My Trip Home - The Final Day

This post is part of an ongoing tale of my trip back home to Mississippi to visit my family. To start the story at the beginning, begin reading from October 30, 2007.

During my whole vacation I was hesitant to buy much. The airlines are so strict regarding how much one's checked luggage can weigh and I was worried that I'd go over. I'd bought a pair of shoes, three pairs of jeans, five t-shirts and then folks had given me things. Yarn, homemade peach preserves and a cookbook from Robin. A bunch of Cajun spices from Michele. Kara had sent me mac 'n cheese, Hellmann's and yarn. As it was I was convinced that I'd have to ship home some things so my luggage wouldn't be overweight.

When you're worried over something it's usually wise to check into it so you can be sure your worry will be worth something. So when I checked-in online for my flight I checked the weight restrictions for luggage. Two checked bags not weighing more than 50 pounds each.

Craaaaaappp! I could have bought more stuff! I could have bought a lot more stuff! I had a lot of money leftover!

Too late. Looks like Miss Virginia would be the recipient of my leftover American dollars that aren't worth the bother of turning them back into Euros.

On Saturday morning I got all my things packed and had to say goodbye to Sam. He was leaving to go to Memphis with some friends to see his first rock concert. He was so excited to be going to this concert I am not sure he really realized I was leaving for good. Afterwards I took the car back into town to visit Mama one last time.

Each time I say goodbye to my mother I think it's the last time. So far I've been wrong but each goodbye does take me closer to the time it really will be the last time. And this time felt more final than other times. Every trip back home is more difficult for me to accomplish and I'm afraid that this truly may be the final time I can pull off the trick. Still when it was time for me to go I tried to be upbeat. Mama walked me outside and I hugged and kissed her for the final time. "Don't start crying!", she said. "You know that's not good!".

Too late. I tried to swallow it all down but I wasn't successful.

I waved goodbye as I got in the car and when I drove off I forced myself not to look in the mirror. By the time I reached Sister's house Mama had already called her in tears. Maybe she was worried it really was the final time too.

I had to be dropped off at the airport a little early since Sister and my BIL had a dinner party to attend that evening. I sometimes think she likes to rush me out of the car and into the airport so we don't get into some long, drawn out, tear filled farewell. Still I couldn't stop the tears even though she and her family do come see me. I get to see them usually every other year.

I was there by 4:15pm and my flight wasn't until 7:00pm. I checked in my well-under-the-weight-limit luggage and then couldn't decide what to do next. I knew that once I went through security I wouldn't have any fresh air until I landed in Amsterdam, about 13 hours from then, but the non-secure side of the airport doesn't have anything of much interest. I sat outside for a while until the diesel fumes of the shuttle vans threatened to choke me and then I resigned myself to head through security. At least there would be shops and restaurants.

The only time I went into a bookstore while in America was when I was leaving it. I'd been afraid to buy books because of the luggage weight issue so I just didn't bother with the temptation. I found a book, bought it and now I think I should have bought more. I still have American money left over, even now. I stopped and had some supper and then headed to the gate where I sat for a good hour and a half.

I'd selected a great seat for the flight to Amsterdam. On the aisle with no seat in front of me. Lots of leg room! Unfortunately I'd selected a seat that was next to a 300 pound man with an upper body that went well out of bounds of his seat. He was a nice enough fellow but I suppose he's either not flown much or thought somehow that flights to Europe look like the ones you see in the movies but he seemed genuinely surprised and not just a bit annoyed that he was crammed into a narrow seat with no legroom. Welcome to economy class, my friend - next time book business class!

I spent the next 8 1/2 hours sitting with my upper body crooked sideways to accommodate his bulky shoulders and arms. I suppose I could have been cranky and told him to stop touching me and to keep his big ass body over on the side of the seat that he paid for instead of invading my in-flight real estate but I figured the misery of sitting next to someone I've royally pissed off would be worse.

I didn't get any sleep on that flight and ended up watching more movies. La Vie en Rose was wonderful but I love Edith Piaf anyway. Did you know she was a knitter? Fabulous singer and a knitter! By the way, that's another thing I never did while I was in America. I never went to the movies. Simply no time.

When our flight landed I said goodbye to my husky seatmate and his wife (and resisted the temptation to ask why he didn't lay the hell all over her side during the flight), grabbed my stuff, hustled into the airport for...what? Nothing. I had a 4 hour layover and I was exhausted. I called B to let him know I was back in Europe and I'd call him again once I was boarding the plane to Hannover so Gerd could be sent on his merry way to pick me up.

I was so tired. By now I'd been awake about 19 hours and I still had a good 12 hours to go before I could entertain going to sleep. The airport was crowded and it was even hard to find a quiet place to cool my heels for a while. I was about half scared to close my eyes anyway. I was afraid that I would fall asleep and miss my flight and I hadn't come this far to not make it back to Magdeburg.

When my flight to Hannover landed I grabbed my bags in record time and got out to the waiting area just as Gerd walked in. By now I was almost staggering from exhaustion but it didn't prevent me from having the shit scared out of me by Gerd's driving.

Once we parked in front of my apartment building I left the bags with Gerd and ran inside. This was longest I'd been separated from B since I moved to Germany and I couldn't be apart from him another minute. I was literally throwing off my jacket and tossing down my purse as I burst through the door and I was greeted by the most wonderful smile in the world and the best kisses.

Home at last.

My Trip Home - The Next to Last Day

This post is part of an ongoing tale of my trip back home to Mississippi to visit my family. To start the story at the beginning, begin reading from October 30, 2007.

Sister needed the headlight fixed on her Prius and that meant a trip down to Tupelo. We had to be there by 8am so we headed out early, my BIL following us in his truck so we wouldn't be stuck down there for hours. After stopping for breakfast - Yay! No one was out of grits! - we arrived back home where I had enough time to call B and to pack a few things before I headed off to town with Sister so she could go shopping and I could, in the meantime, visit with Mama.

I love my mother - there's no question about that - but she can be so incredibly infuriating. She's always been stubborn and hell-bent and determined to do what she wants when she wants to do it and consequences aren't very far up on her list of important things. A discussion cropped up between us that she needs to be more diligent about her diet (she's a Type II, insulin dependent diabetic) and she came back with the claim that she was just fine and her way of doing things was just fine and that meant that I should be happy to run down to Sonic to fetch her a root beer float should she want one. I opted to ignore that request and instead was in search of a brick wall on which I could beat my head.

The conversation went on and I made the huge mistake of mentioning that a friend of my MIL's, a 90 year old woman with diabetes, had to have half of a leg amputated. Mama became properly horrified at that idea and I took the opportunity to remind her that she wasn't exempt from something such as that happening to her and Mama replied that if such a thing occurred we could just do away with her. As if she were Old Yeller or something. I was thinking that this is the sort of conversation that makes me glad that most of the time I'm 5,000 miles away from her because it disturbs me no end.

Sister picked me up a short time later and we no sooner had unloaded the groceries before the car dealership called to say we could pick up the car. We arrived in Tupelo an hour later, grabbed the car, went to the liquor store ('Cause the county we're from only allows beer and wine to be sold - or is it just beer? They change the rules sometimes.) and on the way home we had to stop at Sonic 'cause our breakfast grits were long gone. I can now say that I've eaten enough tater tots and bacon cheeseburgers to satisfy me for a while.

As it was my last night in Mississippi, kinfolk wanted to come by to see me before I left town. Think of the same crew showing up as the night we had our turkey dinner minus Mama, Aunt Cora, and my cousin Danny but added to our number was a friend of Sam's, Trey, who lives across the road from them.

We were making pizzas for this crowd and my niece, Misty, had thoughtfully arrived once again with a bucket of pomegranate margaritas. For someone who very seldom drinks, I'd had an enormous amount of alcohol that arrived to me in a plastic bucket. We had the radio set to play 70s music, with a lot of disco thrown in, so as we awaited each pizza to be baked there was a lot of singing and dancing going on in my sister's big kitchen. Even the four teenage boys there were getting into the groove.

At one point when we were all laughing and dancing and hugging each other I overheard Trey say to my sister "There's a lot of love in here." and he was being absolutely sincere. And she smiled and agreed with him. I did as well. We were knee deep in it.

This is how much my nephews, and Trey as well is seems, love me. They were flopped out on the sofa and all it took for me to get them to get up and do the dance to Crank That by Soulja Boy (Or is it Dat?...I am too unhip to know!) for me was to ask. And I have it on video.

I make no secret of how much I love my nephews. I love them beyond reason. But all the love I have for them doesn't change the fact that I can declare to the whole world that they have no rhythm. They can't dance for shit. But Trey? He was good. I wish I could show you just how good he was and how bad Sam, Bobby and Ben were but I swore I wouldn't show the video to anyone but family. But it's tempting. Very tempting.

Tomorrow: I head for home. Tears, farewells, unfounded panic over my luggage and I fly across the Atlantic next to a mountain.

My Trip Home - I Forget Which Day We're On

This post is part of an ongoing tale of my trip back home to Mississippi to visit my family. To start the story at the beginning, begin reading from October 30, 2007.

By now my vacation days were flying by. It felt like I'd just landed in Memphis and now I was beginning my final week there.

After the Peach Pilgrims left on Sunday afternoon I spent a good chunk of the afternoon playing with Sam with his Nintendo Wii. I had to keep reminding myself to say "Nintendo Wii" because I afraid that if I kept saying "Sam, let's go play with your Wii." both of us were going to eventually need therapy. By the end of the afternoon I was so addicted to Wii Bowling that I was tempted to go to a real bowling alley until I remembered the reason I don't bowl is because I have a fear of ripping off my thumbnail.

Later that evening we went out for Mexican food and then sat out in the yard. Sister has a terracotta fire bowl and before we left for supper my BIL started a fire for us and it was just right by the time we got back home. The air was just cool enough for the fire to be pleasant and Sister and I talked and talked and talked. Later on Sam joined us and I had the best time making him laugh.

The weather was great up until this point but come Monday of my last week there the rain moved in and stayed for days. On Tuesday Sister and I loaded up Mama and we drove up in the west Tennessee hills where Mama's youngest sister lives for a visit. I hadn't see my aunt in over a dozen years and it was like seeing my mother a dozen years younger. One of my cousins, who I hadn't seen since she was just out of high school, was there as well along with her teenage son. I don't know why seeing her have a teenage son made me feel older but it did. I suppose it would have been worse had one of our mutual cousins been there - she's got a year old granddaughter and this cousin is a year younger than me.

Wednesday passed uneventful. The whole week I was always busy doing something - visiting with folks or shopping or the like - but the most interesting thing that day was I finally bought the Wii game Sam wanted me to get him for Christmas. It's official. I am his favorite aunt. Not that I had any doubt.

By Thursday the rain had slacked off quite a bit and Sister and I went out for lunch that day to Borroum's Drug Store - Mississippi's oldest drug store in continuous operation. On Thursday's the lunch special is cornbread salad and while you can get cornbread salad at other restaurants in town, they're the best at Borroum's. For those of you wondering what's in a cornbread salad, it starts, of course, with cornbread crumbled in the bottom of a bowl. Spicy pinto beans are layered on top and then regular green salad with lettuce, tomatoes, cucumber, etc. Ranch dressing goes on top of that, then more salad, more dressing and then it's crowned with shredded cheddar cheese and sliced jalapeño pepper. What's great about the cornbread salad at Borroum's is the lady who makes them cooks her own pinto beans so they're spiced just right and she makes her own secret recipe ranch dressing that's way better than any other dressing I've ever eaten. With a glass of iced tea it's a perfect lunch.

I love going out to lunch. Going out to lunch is one of my very favorite things to do. To me it's way better than going out to dinner. And the very best thing is going out to lunch with someone I adore being with and there are very few people I adore being with more than my sister. Out to lunch with my sister in one of my favorite spots in town. Bliss.

Tomorrow: The last day before I leave for Germany. Tupelo twice, a pizza party, Soulja Boy, and more pomegranate margaritas.

The Peach Pilgrimage - Day 3

This post is part of an ongoing tale of my trip back home to Mississippi to visit my family. To start the story at the beginning, begin reading from October 30, 2007.

The last day of a gathering is always the worst. You know it has to end sometime but you dread it.

At the last Peach Pilgrimage we ate our final breakfast at Martha's Menu and this time was no different. I suppose this now means it's a tradition. Service has gotten a bit slow there since my last visit but it's a comfortable place and the food is good. I got my usual - scrambled eggs, bacon, grits, hashbrowns and a biscuit. Robin, after I assured her that the fried bologna was real bologna and not just some flimsy slice of Oscar Mayer got that and the tenderloin biscuit she got was declared to be the tastiest thing she'd eaten all weekend. My breakfast was served last and I was informed that they'd just run out of grits. The outrage! I'm the one in the group that can't get grits on any sort of regular basis and I'm the one who got ripped off. Damn that Martha! Offers to share the others' grits were given but I declined and suffered in silence - for about 3 seconds until the next topic of conversation popped up and I was engaged once again with talking with some of the most amusing, clever, interesting women I've ever known.

Everyone came along when it was time to take me back to Sister's house. Unfortunately Sister and Sam and my BIL were still at church and I couldn't remember the code to use to get in the garage door. I was about to offer the 18 acres on which Sister lives for the relief of coffee stressed bladders when Sam and my BIL drove up and we could get in the house.



A, S and Lisa waiting for someone to come let us in.

Not to generalize but I think most fifteen year old boys wouldn't want anything to do with a bunch of ladies two and three times his age, but Sam's never been like that. He loves people, he really loves me and when my friends come around he likes to hang out with them if he can. We visited with him while everyone got geared up for their long trips home and he loved hearing our stories about the weekend. I feel confident that if I could have gotten him out of school he'd have gladly gone to Memphis with me. Sam simply has good taste in women.

The afternoon was passing by so finally we had to face saying goodbye. Hugs and strict admonitions not to cry were given but I am not always very good at taking direction. I also had to say goodbye to Lottie, my sock monkey, as she was going home with A to visit her horse farm and to take trips with her. Lottie's quite the world traveler and much like Flat Stanley, she can show up just about anywhere to be photographed. S will be taking Lottie as well for a while (I'm demanding that Lottie be photographed at the Rotunda of the University of Virginia) and then she'll be sent back to me safe and sound. I can only wish one of the Peach Pilgrims would deliver her to me in person.



Thank you, Peach Pilgrims. You gave me one of the most wonderful weekend of my life and I cherish each of you. Your friendship and love means the world to me.

Tomorrow: The week winds up but not before I have cornbread salad.

The Peach Pilgrimage - Day 2, Part 2

This post is part of an ongoing tale of my trip back home to Mississippi to visit my family. To start the story at the beginning, begin reading from October 30, 2007.

Lisa was counting on seeing my mom, Miss Virginia, when we were together in Mississippi and I knew Mama was wanting to see her and Michele again and meet Robin, A and S again. So we loaded up in the cars once again and headed over to The Plantation, the care facility where my mother lives.

At the time of the last Peach Pilgrimage Mama lived in an apartment but now she has just one large room that has her bed, her dresser, a few tables and a couple chairs. When we came in I commented that it was a shame she didn't have her couch anymore and Mama replied "Yeah, but if you have a couch then everyone wants to come visit and they want to stay and you can't get rid of them.". Thanks for the welcome, Miss Virginia!

It's that sort of thing I hear and think "It's the Alzheimer's talking.".

Seating was scrounged up but Lisa insisted on sitting on the floor next to Mama. She didn't want to miss a bit of anything and wanted to be as close to Miss Virginia as practical. We told Mama was we'd been up to in the past 24 hours and she was appropriately impressed and happy that we'd been having a good time together. Mama knows that when I'm in Germany it's hard for me to have girlfriend time so she was thrilled that I could be with my friends for a weekend.

The conversation continued and casually I said "Hey Mama, do y'all still play bingo? You haven't mentioned anything about it.".

Mistake.

"Oh I used to play but you know some of these folks cheat. They'll call out five numbers and one of 'em will yell out "BINGO!". You know that can't be. That would mean they got every number drawn! That can't be! So I said to Edgie (who is the lady living in the room across from Mama's and who is actually rather close with Mama) 'Edgie! You're cheating! Let me see your card!' and she said to me "You just mind your own business! I can tend to my own card!'".

"Hmmm...I reckon the number caller doesn't check the cards when someone yells bingo, huh?"

"No...they can't do that. You know some of these folks don't know any better 'cause they've got Alzheimer's."

Right, Mama. Check, please!

The evening shift nurse came by not too long afterwards to hand out evening medications so I figured it was probably time for us to be heading on. As we were saying our goodbyes somehow Britney Spears got mentioned and Mama immediately piped up "Oh don't mention that hussy to me! I don't have any use for any woman who doesn't wear panties!".

I suppose in Miss Virginia's world if you go commando while cheating at Bingo you'll be given the rickety metal chair by the kitchen to sit in as you roast in Hell.

And as expected, the ladies loved Miss Virginia. You gotta admit, she's quotable.

Since we weren't 100% sure we had enough junk to sustain us all evening, a trip to Walmart was in order. We bought lipstick. We bought crackers. We bought cheese. We bought spray on cheese. We bought a peach scented candle. T-shirts and ball caps supporting local high school teams were bought. And since I love those crazy pink SnoBalls snack cakes, Lisa bought a box of twelve.

"Lisa! That's too many! Twelve is too many!"

"But you love them. Trust me, twelve won't be too many."

I shouldn't have doubted Lisa. If there's one thing she knows, it's what sort of stuff you really need for a girls weekend and the SnoBalls weren't in any danger of going to waste.

We left Walmart in search of some food that wasn't pork oriented and included some vegetables and as we sat in the restaurant watching UVa play Maryland on TV, getting updates from the LSU game from Michele's brother-in-law via text message I talked to Darling Mollie on the phone and got from her the story of how she met Nikki Sixx from Mötley Crüe and how he smiled at her. Mollie's had a crush on Nikki Sixx for about twenty years so this story was a treat for me to hear.

We returned to the hotel and got settled in for the evening but not before Michele had to press the alarm bell in the elevator. A lot. I finally had to slap her hand and call her a shit ass for doing it and we all just howled with laughter. I told you - Michele is the best sport in the world.

Snacks were dug out of bags, cheese was sprayed on crackers, SnoBalls were cherished (and by Robin, picked on for being fake, no-name SnoBalls) and I was given by Lisa a pedicure of epic proportions. Feet soaked in fragrant, warm water, washed, massaged, toenails trimmed and filed and when it came time to slough off the rough skin, Lisa became disappointed.

"You don't have any callouses."

"Well...I wear shoes all the time. I don't go barefoot anymore. It creeps me out to walk barefoot on dirty floors and with the dog my floors are bound to be dirty."

"I wear shoes all the time too but I have callouses. You don't."

"You sound disappointed."

"I am."

She still gave me a polish job that was (and still is...three weeks later and this polish isn't even chipped or rubbed off!) perfect. And it's peach colored.

I can't even describe how lovely that evening was. Being with good friends, eating complete crap and not caring it was complete crap, having my feet massaged and pampered, talking and laughing and feeling completely at ease. I hope y'all have times like these. An evening like this makes up for a lot of hard days when everything goes wrong. It's like having new life breathed into you.

Tomorrow: The Pilgrimage ends but not before fried bologna is served, I'm cheated out of grits and Sam meets (and charms) the Pilgrims.

The Peach Pilgrimage - Day 2, Part 1

This post is part of an ongoing tale of my trip back home to Mississippi to visit my family. To start the story at the beginning, begin reading from October 30, 2007.

If there's anything better than lounging in a beautiful hotel suite for an evening it's lounging in a beautiful hotel suite for a morning. A had arranged for our checkout time to be 1:00pm so us girls could take our time getting up and getting ourselves beautiful.

Ever had the experience of wishing for something then suddenly having it come true? Robin can say that she has. As she was waking up in her fluffy, comfortable bed she wished that she had some coffee and as if on cue the newly-repaired door knocker sounded and in came a wonderful gentleman from room service bringing us not only three carafes of coffee but two different juices, ice water, sliced cantaloupe and honeydew melon, strawberries and a large array of delicious pastries. A had called down to have some coffee brought up and they brought breakfast. When Robin wishes for something, she does it right!



Michele and I say, "Why rush through your morning when you can have a lovely continental breakfast in your suite and peruse a few knitting magazines?" Photo by Robin.

All good things come to an end and our stay at the Peabody was no different. It was time for us to leave the hospitality and service that was threatening to spoil us rotten for life and head on to more adventures. Hmmm...what to do next? I know! Let's go eat some more pork!

Corky's is another famous rib place in Memphis but it's different than the Rendezvous and as far as we were concerned that's enough reason to go eat barbecue again. Plus Lottie didn't get any ribs the night before and she was anxious to try a little pig.



Lisa and Lottie. They're fast friends and Lottie's a big fan of beer and the onion loaf appetizer they serve at Corky's. A little barbecue sauce on it is divine. Photo by Robin.



This is what happens when you eat delicious barbecue. You get like me, Robin and Michele with a big, happy grin on your face. It's no wonder Robin calls it "Piggy Prozac".



Lisa and I outside of Corky's. We have a tradition that after eating at Corky's we sit outside the restaurant for a while and just let the barbecue vibe do it's thing. Photo by Robin.

After stuffing ourselves full and getting more than a few looks from the other patrons (Honestly, you'd think they'd never seen a sock monkey eating pulled pork before!) we set off for some yarn shopping and Michele's next opportunity to scare the hell out of me.

It was inevitable. Six women in three different vehicles were going to get separated at some point and when Lisa called Michele to find out where we were, Michele first had to grope in the back seat to find her cell phone. Oh, did I mention we were hurtling down I-240 at the time? Michele found the phone, we got our directions straight (with more gesturing from Michele) and when Michele hung up I glared at her and said "Give me that fucking phone! Don't put it in the back seat again! And keep your hands on the wheel!".

That's what I really love about Michele. It's the sort of situation we get ourselves into and we laugh ourselves sick over it. She's such a good sport about everything. I swear, you couldn't ruffle her feathers if you dangled her over a flaming pit of lava.

Now while Robin, Michele and I are avid knitters, Lisa and A and S are not. Well, S is - she's still a bit of a beginner still but she does lovely work - but she wasn't interested in prowling around a yarn store with us and chose to go with Lisa and A into the other shops in the vicinity. So while Robin, Michele and I were finding luscious new yarns, what were the other three doing? Well one was doing something and the other two were egging her on.

Here's S while we were at Corky's:



and here's how S looked two hours later (photo by Robin):



Those three just found a hair salon that was still open, walked in, and S got six inches cut off her hair. Doesn't she look so pretty? I don't know if I would have the nerve to walk into a strange salon and have six inches cut off my hair but S does love an adventure and it paid off. Her hair looked great.

By now it was late afternoon and we decided to head back to my hometown in Mississippi where we'd stay overnight. We checked into our rooms - yet another suite and two other adjoining rooms - and then it was time to go visit my mother at The Plantation. Lisa adores my mother and she was so counting on getting to visit with her again and the rest were dying to meet her. Well, Michele had met her during the last Pilgrimage so she was in for a repeat performance. For my part I was hoping Mama wouldn't tell any truly embarrassing stories.

Tomorrow: We'll finally get to those pink SnoBalls as well as bingo cheaters, Britney Spears, and a fabulous pedicure.

Friday Shuffle - Peach Pilgrimage, Day 1, Part 2 Edition

This post is part of an ongoing tale of my trip back home to Mississippi to visit my family. To start the story at the beginning, begin reading from October 30, 2007.

After our date with a bucket at Silky O'Sullivan's, Robin, Lisa, Michele and I made it back to The Peabody to wait for A and S to arrive. After getting our luggage situated until we could check in we found a table and got another round of drinks, albeit alcohol free ones. All of us except for Lisa. She was still on Diver Duty.

Twenty or thirty minutes later - it was hard to keep track of time at this point - A and S breezed into the hotel lobby and found us. More squeals, more hugging, more laughing. A was the one taking care of our accommodations so she did her thing at the registration desk. I was still somewhat in the dark regarding where and how we'd be staying. I figured we were getting a couple rooms to share. Boy, was I wrong.

Our bellman gathered together our luggage and as we were getting the girls together to go up to our room or rooms or whatever it was going to be, Robin told the bellman that we were not only together to celebrate my trip to America but that it we were also celebrating Robin's birthday. The bellman, being as he was a wise man and practiced in the art of schmoozing, claimed that she must be turning sixteen years old. Evidently this bellman was a master of the schmooze because Robin and I nearly fell in love with him at that point.

We rode up together, the six of us, the bellman, the luggage cart and our stash of beer and trashy snacks and when we arrived at the door the bellman unlocked it for us and that's when I found that we weren't in a regular room - we were staying in one of the celebrity suites plus two rooms that adjoined the suite. Plenty of room for us, our luggage, our Cheetos and the bucket!

Of course since it was us we had to have something ridiculous happen immediately. I'm not pointing any fingers and I don't have any proof but Michele someone broke the knocker on the suite's door. The bellman was properly horrified - not that we broke the knocker but that the knocker broke at all. Before he could get our luggage put away he was on the phone to maintenance to have someone come put this knocker back and now.

Like I said, I'm not pointing fingers, but I find it funny that Michele is proudly displaying her knockers...err...knocker...while Lisa show us that if you're in the Celebrity Suite they'll let you bring in as much trashy junk as you want. Photo by Robin:



While the bellman, who by then had told us his name was Marvin so we could ask for him any time we wanted something, finished getting us settled in we discussed what we'd do for supper. It seemed a shame to leave that gorgeous suite that we'd just entered to go out to eat and someone said half jokingly "I wonder if the Rendezvous (which is located across from the Peabody) delivers?". Marvin was taking his leave of us about then and we piped up and said "Marvin, does by chance the Rendezvous deliver to the Peabody?" and he replied "They do if I go pick it up for you.".

And that's when we declared Marvin to be the greatest bellman in the history of bellmen.

Marvin went to fetch us a menu and a few minutes later we were surprised to find room service at the door with two bottles of champagne accompanied by strawberries and cream. Oh it seems that someone out there knew just how to thrill us. Want to see six happy women who were well on their way to being spoiled rotten? Photo by Marvin, the greatest bellman in the world:



From left to right: Michele, Robin, me, A and S and Lisa is in front.

Before we could get into the second bottle of champagne Marvin was back with our six large orders of ribs and we proceeded to get the dining room of our suite smelling like a back yard grill party. And I don't know if champagne makes one extra hungry but I don't think there was one leftover rib. There certainly wasn't any leftover champagne and as we talked and laughed and ate the miniature cheesecakes that Robin and Lisa brought with them another two bottles of champagne arrived. It's amazing how that can happen in such a magical place.

I was overwhelmed. It was hard for me to take it all in. I would walk around the suite and the adjoining rooms and marvel at how lovely they were. I was so touched and thrilled that these five women put their jobs and families and lives on hold to come to Memphis just to see me. And I couldn't believe how A, who is such an accomplished and talented woman, could arrange for us to be spoiled in that hotel. In a world where people put strings on everything, here was a friend who made that magic night happen just because she knew I loved that hotel and she wanted to give us all a treat and the only thing she wanted from it all was the joy she'd receive by watching us enjoy it. And so we enjoyed it to the hilt.

After eating ribs out of styrofoam boxes in a fancy hotel suite's dining room we grabbed our champagne and went into the living room to relax and do what we do best - talk openly and honestly and from the heart. And laugh. That's what we really do best. Laugh.



Lisa and A in one of the truly few quiet moments of that weekend.



This was more typical of us that weekend - Lisa, A and my sock monkey, Lottie. You didn't think Lottie would miss the Peach Pilgrimage, did you?



Robin desperately trying to get online just in case we could find online someone we know so we could tell them where we were and rub it in.

As the evening grew longer and the Pilgrims grew more tired we eventually drifted one by one off to bed. Robin, A, S and Michele each got a queen sized bed while Lisa and I shared the king sized one. The one with so many pillows on it I would have had to cross them in an SUV if I wanted to find Lisa on the other side. And I slept like the dead 'cause that's what a Diver, a lot of grilled pork and champagne will do for you.

It's Friday and that means a shuffle. Bixente the iPod, do your thang.

1. This Year's Love - David Gray
2. Misirlou - Dick Dale & His Del-Tones
3. Sweet Baby James - James Taylor
   
4. Radio Nowhere - Bruce Springsteen
5. Jenny Was A Friend Of Mine - The Killers
   
6. Gone Gone Gone (Done Moved On) - Robert Plant/Alison Krauss
7. One - U2
8. Roll With It - Oasis
9. Twist Of Cain - Danzig
10. Fool In The Rain - Led Zeppelin

Tomorrow - Day 2 of the Peach Pilgrimage: The power of telepathy, more pig, yarn and hairstyling, pink SnoBalls and Michele breaks bad. Again.

The Peach Pilgrimage - Day 1, Part 1

This post is part of an ongoing tale of my trip back home to Mississippi to visit my family. To start the story at the beginning, begin reading from October 30, 2007.

Today we take a break from Mississippi and travel west to Memphis. And for those of you keeping count, this is Day 10 of my trip to the US.

Three years ago when I was last home for a family visit, friends of mine from all over the country came to see me in Mississippi and it was dubbed by my friend, Lisa, to be the Peach Pilgrimage. When I said I was coming back to Mississippi this year it was clear that we'd have to have a second incarnation of the Peach Pilgrimage.

The players this time around were slightly different. Some of those who came the last time weren't able to make it this year but Michele and Lisa had attended the original Peach Pilgrimage and were back again. And this time Robin, who had been saying for years that she would be damned before she missed this Pilgrimage, was in attendance as well as two more new Pilgrimage attendees. They don't blog so for the sake of anonymity we'll refer to them as A and S.

Now that we have the players clear, let's get on with our tale.

Michele was driving up from Baton Rouge and so she swung through Mississippi to pick me up before heading on to Memphis. Robin and Lisa live in the same area near St. Louis so they drove down together. And A and S were flying in from Carolina but wouldn't be there until early evening. Our destination? The Peabody in Memphis. I adore the Peabody and would live there were it possible and A knew this. And so what did A do? Through some connections she has she arranged for us to have accommodations there for Friday night.

Before heading west on Highway 72 Michele stopped for some lunch in town, gassed up her car, made a call to Lisa and Robin to find out where they were and then we were off. It was a good day for a 90 minute drive - sunny and clear and warm and there wasn't much traffic. Michele and I talked and laughed and in general had a great time. We reached Memphis about the time Friday rush hour was getting cranked up so the cars on I-240 were building up quickly. And that was the time that Michele's brother decided to call her, repeatedly I might add, to get directions around Baton Rouge. Michele was holding her cell phone in her left hand and while giving him directions she would gesture with her right. Seeing a problem here? It's Friday rush hour, we're on an interstate highway in a city were good driving seems to be optional and she's steering the car by telepathy evidently because she sure as hell didn't have a hand on the wheel. I said nothing but inside I was screaming with terror.

I should stop and explain something. Michele is a Cajun. Born on the bayou and all that. Talking with her hands is genetic. If she tried to speak without gesturing her tongue would probably unsnap from its roller and fall to the floor.

We reached the Peabody, both the car and our bodies unscathed, parked it and went do the lobby in search of Lisa and Robin who had arrived shortly before us. And it wasn't too hard to find them. Hugging, squealing, giggling and shrieking ensued and then we settled in at our table to enjoy the first drink of the Peach Pilgrimage - appropriately a peach martini.



That's me on the left, Michele in the middle and Lisa on the right. Photo by Robin, who within five minutes was wearing the remainder of Lisa's martini.

Since A and S wouldn't be arriving for another couple hours we decided we'd walk over a couple blocks and see what was happening on Beale Street. We went into Tater Red's, walked past a couple more bars and then settled on Silky O'Sullivan's. Lisa wanted a bucket of beer but they didn't sell beer by the bucket. Instead we ended up with a Diver.



A Diver is a specialty of Silky O'Sullivan's that, according to our waitress, contains beer, white wine, red wine, rum and grenadine. There may be more in it but they like to keep such things a secret. Officially all they'll say is that it's a full gallon of booze. Think of it as Hawaiian Punch that actually will punch you. It's tasty and a bit fizzy and you drink it from straws that are nearly as long as your arm. And you look like this doing it:



We had a table outside on the street so every tourist who was even remotely intrigued by four women drinking out of a yellow bucket with long straws would stop and ask just what in the world were we drinking and we'd reply it was a gallon bucket of hooch. I was slightly surprised at the amount of people who acted as though we were drinking a bucket of rat poison. Lightweights.

But being that Lisa and Robin and Michele and I are wise, experienced hooch guzzlers we knew we'd better eat something to suck up all the alcohol we were downing before our livers and stomachs staged a revolt. And the perfect remedy for that is a sausage and cheese platter - a Memphis specialty - and seasoned fries. You'd be surprised at how fast you can sober up if you eat some smoked sausage, cheese, hot peppers, crackers and french fries. At least enough to stagger back to your hotel without tripping or needing to be carted back by one of the horse drawn carriages that lines the streets in that area.

Lisa was determined to bring the now 2/3 empty bucket o' hooch back to the Peabody. A and S would be arriving shortly and they needed to see what they'd missed while on their flight. We went to our respective cars to unload our luggage and when we arrived to the front of the hotel the lovely bellmen were happy to put our luggage on a cart to await our check in. And it wasn't just suitcases but grocery bags of Cheetos and beer and cheesecake and goodness only knows what else. Oh yes. We are a classy bunch. But the Diver? It stayed with Lisa.



Now don't get me wrong. I don't want to make it seem as though Lisa is a lush because she certainly isn't but she did love that bucket and we had great fun making her pose with it. Eventually that bucket did get emptied. And the waitress said she didn't think we could do it. She just doesn't know the power of the Peach Pilgrimage.

Tomorrow, Part 2: A and S arrive, we find the greatest bellman in the world and we have a pig delivered.

My Trip Home - Day 8 & 9

This post is part of an ongoing tale of my trip back home to Mississippi to visit my family. To start the story at the beginning, begin reading from October 30, 2007.

I'm such a tease. I told y'all yesterday that we'd skip ahead to Day 10 of my trip home and plunge into the forty-eight hours of festivities that comprised the Peach Pilgrimage but I've decided to go ahead and tell about a couple of things that happened on days 8 and 9 because they involve two of my nephews that I positively adore.

On Day 8, Wednesday, Sister and I put together a care package to send to my nephew, John - my eldest brother's eldest son. Books, DVDs, some grooming articles, some snack things, a phone card - just some things to make his days a bit easier to take because John's in the one place our family doesn't want him to be. John is serving in Iraq.

He joined the Navy about 18 months ago. He had been going to college at UC - Santa Barbara but he couldn't afford it any longer and so to get money for college and to get experience in the field in which he's interested - John wants to be an EMT - he enlisted. My father was in the Navy for 22 years and a veteran of World War II and John was always proud of that fact so he chose the Navy to do his service. After basic training he went into training to be a corpsman and later he was given the opportunity to be attached to a Marine platoon. John really wanted the chance to do trauma work and being attached to this platoon would give him more of an opportunity to do that than him staying with the Navy being based on a ship or perhaps at the National Naval Medical Center in Maryland.

At first John's unit was going to Okinawa but plans were changed at the beginning of summer and he arrived in Iraq a couple weeks before I got to Mississippi. I was sick at the idea of him having to go to Iraq. I make no secret that I am angry that the US is there in the first place and always have been and the thought of my nephew there - anyone's family, actually - upsets me no end. But me being upset and worried isn't what John needs right now. He knows he's there because he took an oath to follow orders and because he wants to help the troops there. He's there to help those who become injured and it's important work. I'm proud of him for doing work that's difficult but if there's anyone up to the challenge, it's John. He was always such a smart, good natured, helpful kid and now that he's grown (he'll be 24 years old on Friday) he's even more of a wonderful guy.

So while we pray for his safety and the safety of his fellow troops and the Iraqi people he encounters, we shipped him a care package so he knows we're thinking of him every day. Because he not only needs our prayers, he needs Cajun flavored trail mix from Walmart and something to read.

On Day 9 I spent most of the morning getting laundry done and whatnot so I would be ready to leave the next day for the Peach Pilgrimage. In the afternoon Sister was hard at work studying - she's working on her master's degree in nursing - so I told her I'd go pick Sam up from school.

It was a really gorgeous day - sunny and clear and about 75 degrees - so when Sam and I got back to the house we hung out in the yard for a while talking. Finally Sam said "Hey Auntie Baba (there's a story behind that name but we'll leave it for now), I know what I want you to get me for Christmas.".

In a lot of other kids I might consider telling me what to buy them for Christmas to be almost brazen but in Sam, it's fine. He doesn't mean it to be controlling or manipulative - he said it to me because he feels comfortable with telling me everything that crosses his mind. We've always been pretty close and he's such an upfront, honest sort of kid that I could never imagine any guile from him.

"What is it?"

"Well, we'll have to go to Walmart so I can show it to you."

"Why do you have to show it to me? Can you just say what it is and I'll get it?"

"I don't want you to get the wrong thing. But we have to do it before you leave for Memphis."

"Well Sammo, I'm leaving tomorrow before you get out of school. And you have play rehearsal tonight. We'll have to do it when I get back."

"You're coming back?"

"Of course! I'm just going for the weekend. I'll be back here on Sunday. Actually I'll be back here Saturday night but I'm staying with the girls in town. We'll go to Walmart next week."

"Oh good! I thought you were staying in Memphis until you went back to Germany. I'm glad you're coming back. I didn't like the idea of you staying a whole other week of your vacation away from me."

And that was the point where I'd made up my mind that I'd get him whatever it was he wanted at Walmart. Sam takes piano lessons but I'm not truly convinced he doesn't take violin lessons as well because that boy can play me like a fiddle.

Sam and I have such a good bond and it started the first time I ever saw him. I lived in Virginia at the time and had come for a visit when Sam was 4 months old. He was laying on a blanket in the living room with the craziest look on his face. I said to my sister "What in the world is wrong with him?" and she immediately knew what I was talking about because she laughed and said "He's doing his Richard Nixon face.". From that moment on I knew this kid was always going to entertain me in the goofiest of ways and that we'd always have the sort of bond where we could make each other laugh about anything. And that's really how it's been with Sam and me. We can tease each other without mercy and we know there's no malice involved - just the need to make each other laugh until we gasp for breath. And Sam also knows that no matter what it is, he can tell me anything and I'll understand what he's saying.

I love all my nephews and nieces and am proud of them all but during those two days I was extra proud and felt extra fortunate that I could be John and Sam's aunt.

Okay, for real tomorrow - buckle up and take a dangerous ride with me to Memphis. And I do mean dangerous.

My Trip Home - Day 7

This post is part of an ongoing tale of my trip back home to Mississippi to visit my family. To start the story at the beginning, begin reading from October 30, 2007.

Let's just skip over day six of my vacation. It's not that nothing good happened - I was busy every day of my vacation - but this day was nothing particularly noteworthy.

Day seven of my vacation saw me taking a trip back to Tupelo. My BIL had an appointment with his doctor so Sister and I tagged along so we could do some shopping. Our first stop was to an outlet mall. I found a pair of shoes for $29.99 and although I didn't need them I bought them anyway. Now that I have them home I find that I am not all that crazy about them but I got them for cheap and they'll be fine to wear when it's a bit snowy or rainy outside. As I was waiting for the clerk to come ring up my purchase my sister told me she was going up to a clothing store and for me to meet here there when I was done.

The clerk rang up my shoes and said to me "You know it's senior citizens day and there's a 10% discount for everyone over 55. Of course I don't imagine you're over 55 years old."

Holy crap. I'm only 45 years old. If I look 55 I'm going to look around for the sharp-instruments-with-which-to-impale-myself outlet store.

I replied "Oh no ma'am. I'm not nearly that old."

"That's okay. I gave you the discount anyway. You were with that other lady so that was good enough."

My sister is 52 years old. And I was all but running up the mall to find her and tell her she got me 10% off my shoes.

After we picked my BIL up again it was time for us to seek out some lunch.

"Sushi!", Sister exclaimed.

Damn. I had been hoping she'd forgotten my promise to have sushi when we returned to Tupelo.

Until that moment I had spent the 45 years of my life as a sushi virgin and I was happy to do so. I have nothing against fish. Or uncooked fish. Or off-beat food. Or rice. Or seaweed. I've eaten my share of freaky things and sushi hardly qualifies anymore as freaky. I just had a feeling that I wasn't going to like it.

After being seated at the restaurant Sister explained the things on the menu and suggested that she get a couple of orders of sushi for us all to share and then we could have another menu item for ourselves. I couldn't tell from the sushi varieties what would be good to order so I let Sister handle that and I ordered for myself a chicken teriyaki bowl - chicken, rice and vegetables in a teriyaki sauce.

The sushi arrived, I put a weency dot of wasabi in my soy sauce, dipped in my piece of sushi - this one was cooked tuna and some other stuff -, popped it in my mouth and waited for the taste riot that was sure to follow.

Ugh. I barely had any soy sauce on it and all I could taste was wet something and soy sauce. Already things were starting off on the wrong foot. I was determined, however, not to give up. Sister loves sushi. My BIL was sucking it down like he was born to eat it. It's one of Darling Mollie's favorite things to eat. I was not going to be left behind by the I-Love-Sushi bandwagon so I tried another piece, this time something with raw tuna. The soy sauce seemed to be ruining my enjoyment so this time I ate the piece plain.

Ever eat something really repulsive and you can't seem to get it down? That's what was happening to me with this piece of sushi. The more I chewed it, the bigger it got. And I can't decide what was gagging me the most - the fish or the creamy gooey stuff that seemed to be wrapped with it or the wet, limp feeling it seemed to have against my tongue. If I could have spit it out in any way even approaching discreet then I would have. Surely this was Sister's revenge for me laughing about her getting me a senior citizen's discount at the shoe outlet.

"I'm sorry. I've tried. I can't eat that stuff. Just accept it that I will never love sushi and that it means there will be more in the world for you."

Sister had stopped laughing at me by the time my teriyaki bowls were served and I was happy to eat some lovely, crispy steamed vegetables and rice but I have to say I wasn't too keen on the chicken. I'd forgotten that a little teriyaki flavor goes a long way with me and after a few bite of chicken I stopped eating it in favor of the bits that weren't screaming at me "SOY SAUCE BASED MARINADE!".

I left lunch with a rather dissatisfied feeling. I think I ate myself hungry.

But there was more shopping to do! New jeans! And new short sleeved tops! Short sleeved tops weren't really anything I especially wanted to buy but I'd packed for mild to cool October weather and that week we were having gates-of-hell October weather. As it was I was in a long sleeved cotton top and was about to burst into flames from the heat.

We dumped my BIL off in Sears for him to drool over the power tools and Sister and I headed out to find those jeans and tops that I sorely needed. And you Lane Bryant shoppers! Have you tried their new jeans with the new sizing? I liked the jeans but the sizing thing was so complicated. I jumped through fewer hoops to get a German residency visa than it took me to get some properly sized jeans. And you know what? They still don't fit right. Oh they fit like a dream in the store but they don't tell you that they stretch out like crazy once you've worn them a couple hours so I'm still hitching up my britches every ten minutes. Too bad I didn't buy a belt while I was there.

Afterwards we headed over to the one place where B wanted me to go while I was in Tupelo - Reed's. Reed's is famous for their t-shirts and B loves them. I picked out for him a couple long sleeved t-shirts and found one for Gerd that says "The Cradle of Rock 'n Roll - Tupelo, Mississippi" that has on the back a print of an old photograph of Tupelo with a banner over the street saying "Welcome Home Elvis" and you can see the corner of the original Reed's department store in the photograph. Gerd doesn't really wear t-shirts as far as I know but he really likes Elvis and this t-shirt isn't your run-of-the-mill Elvis t-shirt.

We got back home from our shopping trip and later on I went back into town to drive Sam to his play practice at the high school. After dropping him off I went to get some supper at Sonic, ran into my niece, Misty, while I was there and then went by to see my mother at The Plantation. Trips to Sonic so far during this trip: three. Three trips to Sonic in seven days. A bit obsessive sounding, I'm sure, but I needed the treat. I'd survived sushi.

Tomorrow we'll skip ahead to the beginning of a very big weekend - Day 10: A Cajun, a Diver, ducks, ribs and a lot of loud, lovely women.

My Trip Home - Day 5

This post is part of an ongoing tale of my trip back home to Mississippi to visit my family. To start the story at the beginning, begin reading from October 30, 2007.

When I'm in Germany it's simply not worth it to roast my own turkey. I can get one easily enough - little fat French turkeys, no less - but they're too big for B and I to consume on our own and no one else we know likes turkey. I don't have good oven roasted turkey until I venture back to Mississippi for a visit.

After church on Sunday we got our big ass turkey ready for the oven. Washed him and patted him dry and whispered to him how plump and lovely he was and then slathered him in a olive oil and basil based marinade. Sister and I skipped the stuffing. I'm not that crazy about it in the first place and there are other good things I'd rather eat instead. Family was expected over for supper around 5pm and while not every single person in town to whom I'm related was coming by, there was enough expected that I needed to snap a huge mess of green beans and bake a lemon and a chocolate pound cake.

And as if on cue, 5:00pm rolled around and everyone seemed to drive up at once. My brother and mother were there, Aunt Cora and my cousin Danny, my nephew, Tommy, his wife, her mother and their two girls, my niece, Misty, her husband and their two sons. Aunt Cora came bearing a big tray of brownies and her famous asparagus casserole. If she'd showed up without it I would have been convinced that the world was coming to an end because Aunt Cora makes asparagus casserole for every single occasion. Birthdays, holidays, family pot luck dinners - you name the event and the asparagus casserole will be there and it's been that way for the past fifty years. Aunt Cora has been making and bringing asparagus casserole for so long that no one bothers to get the recipe for their own because she'll always supply it for you. I don't even like asparagus but this casserole is fantastic and I'd cry tiny, bitter tears of disappointment if Aunt Cora didn't bring asparagus casserole.

Misty showed up bearing a fresh fruit tray and a bucket of pomegranate margaritas. I would have never thought that pomegranate margaritas would be tasty but damn if they weren't. Know what they're especially delicious with? Turkey and asparagus casserole. And they're really delicious with brownies stuffed with chopped pecans. By the time that supper was over I was stuffed and a little drunky-doo.

That evening was one of my favorites of my entire trip. Nothing especially exciting or noteworthy but I loved it all the same. I loved everyone passing in and out of the kitchen, the telling of funny family stories, everyone pitching in to get dinner on the table and cleaned up again. Hearing a great song on the radio and everyone dancing in the kitchen. The hugs given freely and easily. And the laughter. Oh we laughed ourselves until we'd gasp for air. We'd laugh until big, fat tears would roll down our cheeks and if someone came in the room while we were laughing and asked what it was all about we'd tell the tale again and the laughter would start up once more.

There's going to be a day when I've not seen my family in many months. Maybe even years. It's going to be a day when I'm very homesick and missing them all like crazy. That's the day when I'm going to remember back to this family dinner and I'm going to revel in how much I love my family.

Tomorrow: A Tuesday trip to Tupelo. Say that five times fast.

My Trip Home - Day 4

This post is part of an ongoing tale of my trip back home to Mississippi to visit my family. To start the story at the beginning, begin reading from October 30, 2007.

Lunchtime found me in town on Saturday and that meant another trip to Sonic. I simply wasn't going to be happy until my blood consisted of bacon cheeseburgers and fries. Number of visits to Sonic: 2 in 4 days. Afterwards I dropped by The Plantation to see my mother and then I made a trip out to the cemetery where my father is buried.

This particular cemetery is outside of town few miles, not far from where my father grew up. It's attached to a rural church and is a homestead cemetery, which means you don't pay for plots there- you simply stake them out and mark them as yours. In addition to my father I have two aunts, an uncle, both of my fraternal grandparents and my grandmother's grandparents who are buried there. It's one of those funky old cemeteries where there's a mix of ancient headstones and newer ones all among one another.

My father's headstone is a double and is wide enough for me to sit on and that's what I do. I like to sit there and watch cars pass and I think about my dad. Sometimes they're not the happiest of memories but most of the time I think about how he was when I was very young.

My brother plays drums in a country/Southern rock band and they have a place in a town about 30 miles away where they play every Friday and Saturday. They used to play at the local Elks club but that gig ended since I was last in Mississippi. On Friday Brother wanted me and Sister to come down to see him play on Saturday night. "It's not as good as the Elks Club though. This place is more of a honky tonk."

Sister and I drove down there Saturday night around 8:30pm and I have to say that "honky tonk" dresses this place up a bit too much. It's a big metal building with a poured cement floor, a bar, some wobbly tables and chairs, two pool tables, a TV and a stage. The only thing missing would be the chicken wire fence across the front of the stage to protect the band from any beer bottle throwing and chair slinging that might be going on. I asked Brother if he worried about the lack of chicken wire and he told me the bouncer was pretty good about breaking up fights before they got too out of control. Great. I'm feeling more relaxed about this place already.

The band was just starting a set as we came in and we found a table at the front.



My favorite drummer:



It was a small crowd that night - Friday night it had been full and since tonight was a NASCAR race night there weren't as many folks in there as usual...only the hardcore regulars. And hardcore would be an apt description of these people.

I hate to say too much for fear of sounding like a snob but egad. I've known a lot of rednecks in my life. Hell, I've got a lot in my family. I've known a lot of low rent, country ass people in my day but I wasn't quite prepared for this lot. Men who would probably fall to pieces if you removed the film of sweat and dirt that likely holds them in one piece. Women who must have thought they were so sexy but in reality they looked either like stringy chickens or marshmallows wrapped in fishing line. And together? Dear lordy me. I could handle the dancing to the fast tunes but just as soon as a slow song would come on I had to look away. Lots of dry humping and making out. I saw more tongue that night than in a German butcher shop. And not just the same people with one another. They'd change partners just about every song and they seemed to believe proper roadhouse etiquette requires that they make out and grind hips with every dance partner.



The guy dancing in the front? He glued himself to every woman in there that would give him a second look. And if he smelled anything like he looked then I feel more than sorry for the gal he's got jerked up there against him.

You know I love my brother and the band is actually pretty good but damn! If I lived there then going to this joint to watch this band and let funky people rub up against me all night would be about the last thing I'd be doing on a weekend. I can't imagine how...I don't know the right word...small, I guess...the lives of these people are that this counts as fun and relaxation to them. Brother told me that he sees the same people every week and they all change around with one another from week to week. And I'm guessing that condoms are about as foreign to these folks as soap and water seems to be.

The band was so loud that it was nearly making my ears bleed but I had to wait until they played Purple Rain before I took my leave. While tooling around Sam's Club the day before Brother told me the lead guitarist/vocalist loves to sing that song and I had to hear how a Prince classic would sound coming out of the mouth of a near chinless redneck from northeast Mississippi. It wasn't half bad, actually.

A week later my brother played his final gigs with the band and then quit the band. His...shall we say...addiction difficulties...preclude him from spending his time in such places. In short, he's never going to stay clean if he's in joints like that every Friday and Saturday night.

Thank goodness I stuck around to hear Purple Rain. I would be kicking myself if I'd passed up that opportunity.

Tomorrow: Turkey and pomegranate margaritas.

My Trip Home - Day 3

This post is part of an ongoing tale of my trip back home to Mississippi to visit my family. To start the story at the beginning, begin reading from October 30, 2007.

Trips to Tupelo are inevitable since that's where the big shopping gets done. If it can't be found at Walmart, you're destined to drive south on Highway 45.

By mid-morning Sister, our brother and I were in the car on the way to Tupelo for a visit to Sam's Club so we could get the food for the Homecoming dinner being hosted at my sister's house that evening. On the final night of Homecoming Week is the traditional football game and then starting at 10:30 the Homecoming dance begins. Since there's no really nice place that would suit for a dinner for the Sam, his date and their friends, Sister decided to make a steak dinner at home for them. "I figured you'd be there to help me!" she said. And she was right. I like doing stuff like this.

We got to Tupelo around 11:30am and Sister suggested we get some lunch first. "Let's get sushi!" she said. Brother and I said "Cracker Barrel!" Sister said "Sushi!". I replied that I'd never actually gotten up the guts to eat sushi before and I'd rather just go to Cracker Barrel and get some fish that would be cooked, no seaweed would be involved and where they believe wasabi is a new model Toyota's bringing out.". "Plus," I repled, "I still have jet lag. I can't handle sushi in my state. I need fried okra.". Sister called me a weenie and I promised that when we returned to Tupelo the following week I'd have sushi for lunch.

Going to Sam's Club put me into one of those lost culture shocks. In Germany it's not all that common to see people with grocery carts filled to the brim. In America in places like Sam's Club one practically needs his own forklift. After purchasing what appeared to be half a cow, makings for salad and enough frozen mini eclairs to give one to every man, woman and child in the county we went back home and began decorating for the dinner and I snapped green beans while I watched the daily dysfunction on the Dr. Phil show.

I had planned on going to the football game but as the afternoon I simply couldn't. It seems my in-panic trot through Schiphol airport, sitting for 10 hours in a cramped airplane, standing at a parade for a couple hours and hiking through giant-packages-of-food heaven had rendered my legs useless to endure the rigors of football stadium bleachers. No time for football games anyway - we would soon be invaded by seven hungry teenagers and two more sets of parents.

Steaks were grilled, green beans steamed, salad made, ice tea prepared, table set and by 8:30 the crowd trooped in ready to eat. And you know I was proud of my sister for offering to host this dinner. It's something my own parents likely wouldn't have done and even more likely we wouldn't have wanted them to do - I liked to keep my friends separated from my parents as much as possible - but my sister is the cool mom. She knows Sam's friends, they know her and like her and she also knows most of Sam's friends' parents. I don't know if Sam gets the importance of that now but I know in the future he'll be grateful that his parents are as cool as they are.

After dinner the kids got ready for the dance and after a bit of squealing and giggling and requests for help with tying ties, the couples were ready to go to the dance.



That's Sam and his date. And here's the whole crowd. Sam's nephew, Bobby, is the redhead with the blue shirt. I adore Bobby. I love that my nephews are such terrific kids.


Tomorrow, Day 4: More Sonic, a visit with Daddy and a trip the a roadhouse.

Friday Shuffle - My Trip Home, Day 2 Edition

This post is part of an ongoing tale of my trip back home to Mississippi to visit my family. To start the story at the beginning, begin reading from October 30, 2007.

Oh yeah. I'm doing it. Continuing the story of my trip home and combining it with a Friday Shuffle. With no net!

Going 24, 25 hours straight without sleep is what makes me fall into be and go immediately to sleep. Jet lag is what makes me wake up at 4:00am wide awake.

It was still too early for me to call B - he always calls me back because it's cheaper that way but I didn't want to have the phone wake up everyone else in the house. Instead I grabbed my knitting and worked a few rows before going back to bed. I finally gave in to my scrambled inner clock and called B a few hours later. B reported that he was fine but his mom and Gerd were getting on his nerves a little. Great! Only 17 days left, sweetie!

Most of my morning was spent flipping through the TV channels amazed at how many more prescription drug commercials there are and then getting myself all washed and fluffed and ready to go out into public. The afternoon would be taken up with picking my nephew, Sam, up from school, getting him in his tuxedo, getting him to the homecoming parade and then getting a good spot from where to watch it. But there was one important thing to do first.

Sister: I'm starved. Wanna go to Sonic before we pick up Sam?

Me: What took you so long to ask? I've been in the US for nearly 24 hours now. I'm well overdue for a bacon cheeseburger and tater tots.

My sister did not eat all her tater tots. She threw away tater tots! I'm sure that must be breaking some sort of tasty fried nuggets of compressed bits of potato laws. I did, however, instill a bit of guilt in her. I told her that she should imagine me back in Germany, totless, when she gets the urge to to waste perfect good tater tots.

I am my mother's daughter.

Sam had been selected to be in the homecoming parade as a "doorman". Each of the clubs in school selects a "sweetheart" and the club then chooses a theme and decorates a convertible car to fit the theme. The sweetheart then chooses a driver and a doorman, whose job it is to...well...sit in the passenger seat. One presumes that he mans the door for the sweetheart but as one doesn't actually ever see the sweetheart get in or out of the convertible I can't verify that this is true. Anyway, Sam was the doorman for the sweetheart for the drama club and the theme was The Phantom of the Opera. The driver and Sam would be donning tuxedos and Sam would be wearing a white mask over his eyes.

After picking up Sam and his rented tuxedo we headed over to The Plantation so he could get dressed in my mother's room. He'd never worn a tuxedo before and the studs and cummerbund had him completely perplexed but finally he emerged from the bathroom to utter "Bond. James Bond.".



I have to say he did look pretty dashing.



That smile is the reason that boy has me wrapped around his little finger.

After getting my mother hustled into the car we dropped Sam off to where the parade would start and then met my Aunt Cora, my BIL, his daughter, her husband and her two boys, one of which is 6 months younger and a grade behind Sam. I always wonder if he refers to Sam to his friends as his uncle.

We got a great spot along the street from which to watch the parade and as we were waiting for it to begin I heard someone call out loudly "There she is! There's the queen and she's on her throne.". It turned out to be the assistant county prosecutor who also happens to attend the same church as my family and he knows exactly how to charm my mother. Just refer to her as a queen, fawn over her a bit, and she's yours for life.

And then it started:



Sorry they're a little dark. The sun was setting behind us.



There were floats from each of the classes:





And the homecoming queen:



And the highlight to me was Sam, the doorman:

I loved that parade. I loved seeing the town turn out to see it - folks of every stripe were there. I loved seeing how the kids put so much effort into making their floats and cars look so special. I loved seeing the sweethearts and princess and queen smile wave, so excited to be there, and how the crowd along the street would wave back and applaud for them.

I was so happy to have picked this particular time to make a trip home. There's so much in the lives of my family that I miss and being able to be there on a particularly fun day for Sam and being able to share it with folks I love so much was wonderful. It made me realize that I often miss living in the US more than I like to let on but I'm fortunate in that I have two homes - one in Mississippi and one in Germany. And they're both important to me.

Bixente the iPod has been on vacation for the past month - time for that guy to get back to work and to get to shuffling.

1. Tall Cool One - Robert Plant
2. I Saw Her Standing There - The Beatles
3. Thunder Road - Bruce Springsteen
4. A Place Called Home - P. J. Harvey
5. Gracie - Ben Folds
6. The Pretender - Foo Fighters
7. The Diary of Jane - Breaking Benjamin
8. Tuxedo Junction - Glenn Miller Orchestra
9. Let's Go Crazy - Prince
10. Tennessee Flat Top Box - Rosanne Cash

Tomorrow: Day 3! A trip to Tupelo, sushi avoided and the homecoming dance!

My Trip Home - Day 1, Part 2

This post is part of an ongoing tale of my trip back home to Mississippi to visit my family. To start the story at the beginning, begin reading from October 30, 2007.

All the effort and panic I put out to get to the plane it seems to have done the trick. I made my flight on time and since everyone else booked for the flight did as well we were able to take off about 15 minutes early. The gods of travel were once again smiling upon me.

Airports are places where the average person stands even a small chance of running into a celebrity. Unlike hotels or restaurants or boutiques, there are only so many airports and eventually someone famous is going to come through them. And even though he may not be A-List material, on my flight from Amsterdam to Memphis, I sat next to Uncle Kracker.

Okay, it really wasn't Uncle Kracker. It was a guy with a goatee, sunglasses, a black baseball cap and two arms covered with tattoos. He wasn't anyone famous or even semi-famous but the minute I saw him "Uncle Kracker" popped into my head so I spent the entire flight mentally referring to him as Uncle Kracker. It occurred to me that perhaps he could be an air marshal but air marshals likely don't sit in a window seat hemmed in by middle-aged housewives, and they also don't spend 85% of the flight asleep. Unless he was just acting like he was asleep. If that was the case his cover was most effective because nothing seemed to faze this guy. During the flight he said exactly three things to me - Replying "Okay." to me when I told him he should just tell me any time he wanted me to move so he could get out of his seat, "You got a pen?" when he had to fill out the immigration and customs form, and "Thank God we're home." when the airplane's wheels touched down in Memphis. This man didn't eat the main meal served - slept right through it - and not once during the nearly ten hour flight did he get up to use the restroom. Uncle Kracker evidently has the bladder the size of a watermelon.

I hate mindless chit-chat with seat mates on a long flight so it wasn't hurting my feelings any that Uncle Kracker spent most of the flight unconscious. I was busy entertaining myself in other ways. I didn't take my knitting on the plane because I don't like feeling all hemmed in as I knit but I did bring along a book to read. However I was in a lovely Airbus A330 with video on demand so I had lots of movies to choose from to keep me distracted. First I watched The Good Girl and enjoyed it. While I normally can take or leave Jennifer Aniston, I like John C. Reilly and Jake Gyllenhaal and was surprised that I liked Jennifer Aniston pretty well in this movie. The next choice was Mr. Brooks. I don't want to spoil the film for anyone who hasn't seen it but I would advise not to make the same mistake I did and eat cheese filled and tomato sauce covered rigatoni as you watch this movie.

Which leads me to mention my eating habits on a plane. I don't particularly like airline food, although I will say it's vastly superior to hospital food. I don't know why I don't feel the need to just ignore and not eat what's given to me if there happens to be a menu item I don't like. Perhaps it stems from the thought that it all gets thrown away at the end of the flight and it seems a shame to not eat some wrapped up item. Or maybe it comes from the idea that the flight attendant will see what I didn't eat as he/she takes away my tray and will somehow judge me for my not eating something. Whatever the reason, I found myself eating a chunk of cold cheddar cheese as part of my meal. I am not a big fan of cheese and really hate it if it's cold or at room temperature. I like my cheese hot and melty and only like cheddar of it's in conjunction with a taco or fajita. But there I was, being all Miss Waste-Not-Want-Not and eating my chunk of cheddar.

Being on an airplane at an altitude of 37,000 feet didn't make it any tastier. In fact it was vile.

And vile is what I'd say the third film I watched was. I watched Georgia Rule and I wasn't disappointed in the film as much as I was annoyed and repulsed. I should have known better than to watch a Lindsay Lohan movie while on an airplane after I had a flight from Frankfurt to Washington, DC ruined by watching two of her in The Parent Trap. In Georgia Rule she plays a selfish, shitty character who had nothing wrong with her that my foot up her ass wouldn't have cured and Lindsay played the whole movie with a look on her face that made it seem as though her upper lip stinks.

We landed in Memphis about 45 minutes early and since I was sitting at front of economy class I got out of the plane and down to immigration and customs in record time. I gave my customs declaration card and passport to the official and while I may be mistaken, he seemed to get less friendly when he saw the German residency visa in my passport. He went on to ask me why I lived there and what my husband did for a living ("He's disabled.") and what I did ("I"m a housewife."). He then asked me how I got money and I explained that my husband draws a disability pension, which was about as much regarding my finances as I wanted to reveal. Then the official asked me how I could possibly afford a ticket to the United States and I looked him dead in the eye and told him that I was good at saving up for big purchases. I suppose my candid answer is what earned me a little mark on my customs declaration that prompted them to pull me aside once I'd retrieved my checked luggage for them to send them through X-ray and a possible hand search. But there was no worry. The most dangerous thing in my luggage was some tiny bottles of herb schnapps and some hand-dyed yarn so I scooted on with no trouble whatsoever.

My sister and my nephew, Sam, had just arrived at the baggage claim area when I walked up to retrieve my bags so we were out of the airport so fast my sister didn't even have to pay for parking. I'd seen them about 15 months ago but Sam's at the age where he's growing and maturing more every week so he seemed like a whole new kid.

Rush hour was just getting cranked up in Memphis so we decided to wait it out by having dinner at the Macaroni Grill. At that point I had been awake for about 20 hours and was really too tired to have much of an appetite but still I ended up with a piece of lasagna that was bigger than my head and was thankful that American restaurants love to give you a doggie bag.

It takes nearly 90 minutes to drive from Memphis to my hometown and by the time we arrived I'd gotten my second wind and was ready to drop by The Plantation, as I like to call the facility where she lives, to see my mother.

She's 3 years older since I last saw her. She more stooped and shuffles more as she walks. Her memory is like a sieve and her sense of time is terrible but she still knows me and still hugs me as hard as ever. That's when I really felt back home.

I'll tell about day 2 tomorrow. Sonic, James Bond and the charm of small town life will be featured.

My Trip Home - Day 1, Part 1

I can plan for something different but I always have the same outcome. I can do everything within my power to go to bed early the night before I fly to the US but I always end up too excited and full of anticipation for it to happen. I got to bed at 2:00am and had to get up at 5:00am to be ready for my flight. Gerd had said about 496 times that he and my MIL would be here at 6:30am for him to take me to the airport in Hannover and so getting up at 5:00am would be plenty of time for me to shower, wash my hair, dress and have a bit of alone time with B. So what time did he and my MIL show up? 6:05am. And I was in the bathroom. In my undergarments. Where were my clothes? In the back room on the other side of my apartment. What a great start to my day!

After streaking through the hallway in a mad dash for my clothes I finally shooed them away from B long enough for me to say bye to him and begin my crying and hiccuping jag. It's always the same. I leave for more than...say...four hours and I go into a whining fit. There were kisses and hugs and promises to call each day and to take care of ourselves and reassurances that each of us would be all right and when 6:30 rolled around I dragged myself away and into Gerd's car for the trip to Hannover.

Know how they say the most dangerous part of an airplane trip is the car drive to the airport? Know why they say that? Probably because Gerd once drove someone else to an airport. I'm not saying the man is a bad driver but for shit's sake, did he need to be driving 160kph in commuter traffic? Look, I get the whole Autobahn thing and no speed limits and all that. What I don't get is the idea that you can drive as fast as you want regardless of the weather or flow of traffic or the amount of cars sharing the Autobahn with you. The way to handle a lot of cars is not to insist on maintaining the same speed by weaving in and out of lanes but to slow. the. hell. down. And stop scaring the shit out of me by not realizing that you need to slow the hell down until I'm about to kiss a tail light.

Gerd's insistence that I not miss my plane resulted in me arriving at the airport two hours before my flight. Better to be early though than late so I kindly thanked him and sent his ass back to Magdeburg before he proceeded to yap at me and up my anxiety even more.

I checked in as soon as someone got behind the counter and that left me an hour before I could even go though security to the waiting area for my gate. Too nervous to eat breakfast, I wandered around and around and called B every couple of minutes. I finally had to stop when I realized I was only making him anxious. Eventually they allowed us to go through security and thus began the first leg of my trip to my homeland.

You know how strangers caught in the same place can become a little community within a few minutes? Folks waiting under an awning for rain to stop, people in line to buy tickets, folks stuck in an elevator? This waiting area at the gate was no exception. Within a couple minutes I was happily chatting with a business man from Manchester, England who was flying back home, a German couple who were attempting to fly to Florida - he had been picked in a lottery to get a US Green Card and he was going to show his girlfriend the US in hopes that she'd like it and marry him and move with him to the US - and a German man and his very American daughter who were flying to their home in Connecticut after a visit with his mother. All of us were flying to Amsterdam to connect to flights to carry us elsewhere. We spent our time waiting for our 10:15am flight and the topics were varied and rather enjoyable. That is until one of them - the German man going to Florida - wandered into the duty free shop next to the waiting area and was told by the clerk there that our airplane hadn't even left Amsterdam. This was at 9:55am. Amsterdam is a 50-60 minute flight, depending on the aircraft used. Looks like we're going to be delayed a while.

Most of us had rather lengthy layover - in my case it was about three hours - but others weren't so lucky. As we sat and sat the grumbling started up and not just because we weren't informed by the actual KLM personnel until a good twenty minutes later - we were getting our information from someone who sells booze, cigarettes and perfume - but because they seemed clueless as to when the plane would actually arrive. More time passed and we were informed that those taking the connecting flight to Detroit were shit out of luck as far as that flight went and they'd need to see the transfer desk upon their arrival in Amsterdam. The rest of us? They didn't know if we'd make our connecting flights or not but if you had comfortable running shoes they recommended that you slip them on.

The problem in Amsterdam is passport control to get from the inter-continental side of the airport to the international flights is in one central location and you could either have good luck and breeze though or have bad luck and wish you'd peed first and grabbed a sandwich before getting in the line. I was still okay as far as time went but the guy going to Manchester was cutting it close and the man with his daughter flying to Connecticut was probably screwed as the only flight to New Haven each day was the one he was about to miss. His daughter, who was about 10 years old, was getting anxious. She kept asking her dad how they'd get home and what would they have to do and how would they tell mommy and why did they need to bother to clean the plane after it came in. She didn't need a clean seat or a snack on the plane - she wanted her mommy! Daddy was about to snap so I tried to distract her a little and reassure her that everything would be okay.

Finally our flight arrived and after about 10 minutes they let us board. I think we were all mentally encouraging one another to hurry and sit down and buckle up so we could take off and around 12:10pm we backed away from the gate. We were on a jet so the flight time was projected to be roughly 45-50 minutes and we were advised to check our connecting flights and if we missed ours to go to the transfer desk.

I was still figuring to be okay time-wise and as soon as our plane landed we all ran like freaks to the bus taking us to the main terminal and once we were inside the building, we went into high gear.

Normally I hate escalators. And I don't like those moving sidewalk things either - I stand stock still on them until the end where I try to get off of it without falling and breaking my clumsy neck. That is unless I'm a mile from where I want to be and I'm afraid of missing something very important to me. I didn't just walk along the moving sidewalk - I ran. Okay, I trotted. I wouldn't run if a pack of vampires were behind me, never mind something as comparatively minor as missing a plane. Still, me trotting is an eventful thing and I was determined to get to my gate. Boarding for my plane had already started and my panic was beginning to set in.

All was going well. I was able to trot, pant, and call B all at the same time to let him know there was the slight chance that I may miss my flight and I'd call him back when I knew more. I was feeling pretty confident that all would be well...that is until I had to pee. Bad. I didn't think I could go on so I stopped, peed, washed my hands and got a drink of water in what had to be world record time. There is something to be said for wearing elastic waist trousers while traveling.

Just as I was getting to passport control - and I'd like to thank God and all His chubby little angels that there was no line there - I saw the man bound for Connecticut with his daughter. He told me that as they got the gate, his plane was pulling away. I told him I was sorry but did it quickly as I wasn't going to share his fate.

I made it to the international flight terminal and was thankful to see that for once the gate I wanted wasn't the one at the far end. Boarding had started and I saw folks in line waiting to be quizzed by the screeners. Here's a hint for those of you who may be doing some international traveling in the near future: If you don't want to arouse suspicion, don't show up at the gate sweating and gasping for breath. You'll garner a little extra unwanted attention.

After answering the questions in a way that seemed to please my particular screener - the first one being "What's the matter with you?" - I was allowed to board. I took a moment to switch from my normal shoes to clogs - I always wear clogs on long flights because you can easily remove them and get them back on during the flight - and to call B one last time to say I'd made the flight and I'd call him the next morning to let him know I was in Mississippi.

I made the walk down the jet way to the plane, quickly found my seat, searched for a place in the overhead storage for my carry on bag - and I seem to be the only one in the world who doesn't carry on a bag that's larger than your average 3 year old child - sat down and caught my breath. I still had many hours to go before this day would be over.

Come back tomorrow for part 2 when I meet Uncle Kracker, eat cold cheese, find another reason to hate Lindsay Lohan and am finally reunited with my family.