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recently
// It finally happened! After eleven years, I finally got my real American Thanksgiving, and it was every bit as wonderful as I knew it would be. I can’t wait to do with again next year with Gregory stuffing himself with turkey next to me.
// Have you seen Mockingjay yet? I saw it last week and like Thanksgiving, I want a do over. Loved, loved, loved it.
// This is how ridiculous I am sometimes; I was talking to my mother and saying how I needed some good curry powder and red and green curry pastes and she told me that there are few good Asian markets in San Antonio. I said, “Ugh, I don’t want to drive all the way into San Antonio. When you’re in Dublin, can you pop into the Asian store on Abbey Street and pick me up some?” Because only in my mind, does it make more sense for my mother to pick me up some when she’s in Dublin, than for me to drive down the road and get some.
// So my mother is going to Dublin for a week tomorrow, and ever since Fifty saw the suitcases being pulled out, he’s been mopey and practically inconsolable. It’s horribly sad and I feel terrible for him. He hates seeing suitcases, poor guy.
// As of today, about 98% of my Christmas shopping is done and 75% of the cards have been written. I just felt like sharing that information. Go me.
// When do you put up your holiday decorations? I’m practically chomping at the bit to put mine up because this is the year I’ve been waiting for, this is the year I have finally been reunited with my Christmas decorations that were sitting in storage while I was an expat. All of my Santas and my Nativity scene can finally be taken out of their boxes, dusted off, and do what they were made to do… spread Christmas cheer! (I would love to say that ALL of my Christmas decorations are now together, but I can’t, because the decorations I accumulated when I was in France, are now in Massachusetts at my sister’s with the rest of my belongings. Eventually, me and all of my stuff will be in the same location. That’s the dream.)
// The other day on Facebook, someone had posted one of the zillions of Bill Cosby memes that have been going around. It was tasteless, and I usually ignore such things, but as I was scrolling down, a comment that someone had posted about it caught my eye. This it what it said: “You can take the monkey out of the jungle, but you can’t take the jungle out of the monkey. lmfao.” Seriously, someone actually wrote that. And here’s the thing, I see things like that weekly on Facebook, not necessarily always that extreme, but hints of it. So for anyone who thinks that race still isn’t an issue in this country, well, I’ve got a bridge in Brooklyn I want to sell you.
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rendant grâce
This is Sam. Sam was my grandmother’s grandfather, and like my Nana, he was a Wampanoag. His photo is here because the Wampanoag were the kind and generous folk who brought the food to the first Thanksgiving. I’m sure if Sam was still alive today, he would simply say, “you’re welcome” (I had to have gotten it from somewhere, right).
I’m pretty sure that the Sam and Nana part of me is the reason I love Thanksgiving so. It’s always been my most favorite of holidays, there is just something so familial, warm and loving about it, which is what made it all the more dismal as an expat. In the rest of the world, Thanksgiving is just another Thursday leading up to big show in December. It’s all very blah.
Since moving back to the States, I’ve been longing for tomorrow to come. I’d finally be a part of it all again, not just an observer to the never ending flow of Facebook’s pumpkin pie newsfeed. But here’s the thing, never in my wildest imagination did I think that Gregory wouldn’t be here for it. Never. During this ridiculously drawn out green card process, I was always like, “Oh well, at least he’ll be here by Thanksgiving, that’s all that matters.” And lo and behold, he’s not.
So while I’ve had moments of joy this week as the holiday has closed in (the crowded grocery store might be stressing out others but the frantic buzz of it has been giving me the giddies), unfortunately, there’s been lots of sadness too. Gregory isn’t here, my family isn’t complete, and he won’t be busting through the door in the nick of time, à la Planes, Trains and Automobiles. He is simply not coming.
In order to try and get a hold of the ever growing pit of despair that’s burrowing deeper into my stomach as the Thanksgiving clock winds down, I thought it was time to focus on the positive with the timely, Things I’m Thankful For list.
I’m thankful for friends that feel more like family.
I’m thankful for my health and everything that I have that so many less fortunate souls do not.
I’m thankful for my mom’s friend Vicki, who always helps me bathe Fifty. (He had his holiday bath yesterday and he’s so soft and clean now and his grandma can’t say he smells like fish anymore… for the record, he never smelt like fish.)
I’m thankful for Law and Order SVU. As long as USA keeps running those marathons, I will always have something to watch on TV.
I’m thankful that I found a wine here that I love and that’s a bargain at $5.49 a bottle. Amen and Hallelujah.
I’m thankful for the new Chromebook I’m typing on; an early Christmas present from my mother. Thanks Eilo.
I’m thankful for the friends that I have made through this blog. You guys are some of the most kind and supportive people going. I love y’all.
I’m thankful for Mr. & Mrs. London who have been taking such good care of Gregory these past few months.
I’m thankful for Fifty, my trusty sidekick, who is wonderfully, cuddly, company.
I’m thankful that my husband’s phone plan allows him call me twice a day. But, I’ll be even more thankful when he no longer has to.
Happy Thanksgiving friends! Gobble, gobble bisous.
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Playing The Help
Back in July, when I was in France visiting Gregory, I happened to be there for The London’s wedding anniversary. Figuring they would be going out for the evening to celebrate, and Gregory would probably be working, I looked forward to a date with myself; Chinese takeaway, Sky TV, and a bottle of Rosé, but as most of my plans go, it didn’t.The night before her anniversary, Mrs. London and I sat outside by the pool having apéro and tossing around ideas of where she could bring Mr. London for dinner (it was her year to plan).The problem with restaurants in Toulon is that there aren’t that many great ones, and the ones that are, well, we’ve already been to, so it’s hard to find someplace special. And unfortunately, going anywhere out of town was a no-no, as Mr. London had to be in town for work. But as we sipped and brainstormed, and I looked around at the gorgeous surroundings and the new deck that Mr. London and Gregory had built (well done boys), a plan began to percolate…
What if I cooked dinner for them and served it on the terrace, and we’d make it a surprise, Mr. London would think he was going out somewhere, but really he’d be walked out to his own back garden which we would decorate with candles and flowers, and I would cook and serve. It would be my gift to them. We agreed it was an excellent idea patted ourselves on the back, and planned a menu.The next day, we expected Mr. London to go out and about as he usually does, but nope, he decided to stay put on the couch, for the whole day, the couch that is right next to the open plan kitchen. It’s kind of difficult to cook a surprise meal when someone can see what you’re doing. And that’s when I had my second light bulb moment, I told Mr. London that I was cooking a surprise meal for Gregory, he would be home early that evening, and we would have it while he and Mrs. London were out celebrating. He believed it, and I even used this new ploy to let Mr. London pick out his own starter and dessert… silly Mr. London!
Mrs. London and I were quite chuffed with our cleverness let me tell you, but we still couldn’t do anything about decorating the terrace until Mr. London disappeared. Unfortunately, he decided to stay put until fifteen minutes before he and Mrs. London were due to ‘go out’, when he finally went upstairs to shower and get ready and that’s when Mrs. London and I sprung into action. We sprinted up the steps of the tiered garden, placing tea candles here and there and hanging them from the trees. We spread out rose petals, set the table, and setup the speakers so there would be music.Miraculously, we were back inside by the time Mr. London was back downstairs putting his shoes on and grabbing his keys. I said goodbye, told them to have fun, and watched as Mrs. London walked her husband out the front door, and then into the side gate of their garden and up the steps to their date. I ran and put a dress on (their waitress should look lovely after all) and greeted them outside to ask what they would like to drink. Mr. London’s face was priceless! Mrs. London and I managed to pull of the surprise and amazingly, Gregory did not let the secret slip during any one of his and Mr. London’s zillion phone calls they had that day. Succès!
And after their dinner, Mr. and Mrs. London celebrated their marriage by sending off wish lanterns into the Toulon sky, and when Gregory got home, we all sat outside under the twinkling lights of a beautiful evening. It was more than a little romantic if I do say so myself.P.S. In case you’re curious, the menu consisted of this crudités platter for nibbles that Mr. London picked out, followed by Coq au Riesling, and for dessert; ice cream topped with tropical fruit, Mr. London’s other choice (he’s very easy breezy, Mr. London is… or he thinks that Gregory is). -
Top 10: Things I Love About Dublin
Before transitioning to C’est Moi, Sara Louise, Sara in Le Petit Village was an expat in France blog for over four years. But before being an expat in France, I was an expat in Dublin, I just didn’t blog about it. Since I’m now an ex-expat, and C’est Moi, Sara Louise is an ex-expat blog of sorts, I thought I’d start blogging about Ireland (well, Dublin specifically) to add a smattering of green to the blue, white and red. So in that vein, here’s a list of things I love about Dublin, because, why not. It’s Friday, and I’m feeling lovey dovey.
1. Christmastime in Dublin, and by Christmastime, I mean November through January. Dublin is simply magical during the holidays; the lights on Grafton and Henry Streets twinkle so, and the Christmas tree on O’Connell is always perfectly sparkly and splendidly festive standing in front of the GPO. Christmas music pipes out of the shops and everyone is jolly. Dublin is a small city, and during the holidays, it has the most wonderful of small town vibes to it. It’s like everyone knows each other, and everyone is full of the Christmas spirit.
2. Dublin is a cosmopolitan city with everything on offer that any other world class city has, but, Dublin city centre is considerably smaller, meaning that you can get from one side of town, to the other, in a relatively short period of time. You could easily walk it if you wanted to. It’s practically pocket sized which makes it perfect for exploring.
3. While Dublin is notorious for it’s dreary weather, on occasion, the sun does come out to shine, and when it does, the whole city celebrates. Any public green will have people lounging on it, beer gardens will be packed to the hilt, and last minute barbecues with burnt burgers and soggy cole slaw are planned. The whole city buzzes with infectious happiness and it stays that way… until the rain comes again.
4. There’s a small village only three miles outside of Dublin City Center called, Chapelizod. It’s a charming place full of history and legend. Not only did James Joyce speak of it in Finnegan’s Wake, but Michael Collins would meet his Dublin Castle spies in a pub there. Lots of historical and literary lore, but the real legend of Chapelizod lies in its name… it means Isolde’s Chapel, and the Isolde is the Isolde of Arthurian legend. Chapelizod is the village where Isolde hailed from, and I was lucky enough to have lived there.
5. The pubs of Dublin are famous, but many people may have the wrong idea about them and their purpose. Sure, they’re having a pint or two (or five or six), but they’re also for the craic; the sing songs, quizzes, matches and laughter that you’ll find filling them any given day of the week. The pub is the social hub of a village and on weekend days, you can find entire families there, children included.
6. After enjoying ‘the craic’ at a pub, there is only one place to stop on your way home; the chipper. It doesn’t get much better than a battered cod and a bag of chips (fries) sprinkled with salt and malt vinegar. My mouth is watering just thinking about it, and after a pint or two (or five or six), there is nothing better. And if you’re feeling particularly indulgent, throw in a battered sausage and you’re good to go. Hangover be gone.
7. Ireland’s restaurant scene has been on the rise for years now, and in Dublin, it’s hopping. There are so many amazing and innovative restaurants in Dublin to choose from now, it would be impossible to get through them all. Trust me, if you like food, Dublin should be at the top end of your ‘must visit’ list.
8. When I lived in Dublin, I hardly ever would go out in Temple Bar, it felt too touristy for my liking, but now that I’m gone, I appreciate it. Sure it’s packed to the gills with tourists and drunken hen parties and stag do’s, but there is some serious good times to be had inside any of those pubs squeezed together on those cobbled streets. Traditional music and sing-a-longs can usually be found inside one or another.
9. Dublin taxi drivers are generally up for a chat whether you want one or not. They’re like driving encyclopedias of local history and news and will usually talk your ear off with their take on things and opinions. And on a number occasions, when the time came for me to exit the taxi, I felt like I was saying goodbye to a friend, rather than a stranger (told you they were chatty), but you still have to pay them.
10. And rounding out my top ten favorite things about the Fair City are the Dublin people themselves. Maybe I’m biased because most of my family is there, but every person I know who has visited the city, comes back raving about the people and how friendly and helpful they are. Of course not every single person in a city can be neighborly, but for the most part, Dubliners are. I miss those neighborly people in that fair city.
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Sanary-sur-Mer
There is a list of places in France that I’ve always wanted to go to, but never had a chance because, you know, life. Not getting to places like Versailles I can understand, because that’s a long journey from Le Petit Village, but there were loads of places not too far that I never made it to, places like; Bandol, Nice and Antibes, and Sanary-sur-Mer.
Sidebar: For four years I harassed Gregory to take me to Nice… please, please, I beg, and always the answer was no (with a Gallic huff and puff naturally). Gregory had this thing about Nice, he didn’t like it. And the fact that he had never actually been to Nice didn’t seem to matter. Well this summer, Gregory and Mrs. London brought some South Africans that were visiting Toulon down to Nice for the day, and afterwards Gregory phoned me and apologised because he loved Nice and thought it was simply the bee’s knees. Well too little too late Gregory! (Needless to say, he’s in the dog house for this one.)
On the Sunday after I arrived in France for my visit, Mrs. London and I decided to take advantage of the fact that the boys were busy, and go to one of the places on my list. We actually chose Bandol and were heading in that direction, but somehow along the way, we found ourselves taking the exit for Sanary-sur-Mer instead (it was closer and we were hungry).
Let me tell you something, there is nothing so lovely as soaking up the soft sun rays of a perfect summer day while looking out over the Mediterranean Sea (or any sea really) and sipping a chilled glass of Rosé. It truly is a delightful way to spend an afternoon, and in Sanary-sur-Mer, that is exactly what Mrs. London and I did. And without Gregory and Mr. London to get in our way with their Bumder shenanigans, it was all the more delightful.
Not too shabby, is it? If I had ruby, red slippers, I’d be clicking my heels right this very second. -
making up for messing up
Remember how I told you about Gregory messing up our last day in Paris by booking that awkward hour of 12:49 train? Well, it turned out there was a reason for that. Gregory was surprising me with dinner at one of my favorite restaurants, and that awkward, early afternoon train, was the one that would get us to Toulon in time. As soon as I found out we’d be dining at Le Tournebride (where we celebrated my last birthday), Gregory was quickly forgiven for making me miss the Musée d’Orsay again.It felt surreal piling into Mr. London’s car and driving to the restaurant. While I had been gone from France for four months, being back in Toulon with my family made those four months all but disappear. We were all together again, just like I had never left, and when I walked through the doors of the quaint, Provençal restaurant, I truly felt like I was home again; a luxurious, drawn out dinner kicked off with an apéro before slowly making its way through each course, was exactly what I had been missing. It was scrumptious.
Being July, the cozy, winter atmosphere of the restaurant kind of lacked the magic it had had back in February, and instead of the food being cooked over a fire in the diningroom, the fire was flaming outside. But, the food was still every bit as delicious as I had remembered.
Gregory and I ordered the medallions of beef and scallops, which came on a large, wooden plate, with each succulent bite layered over the other. And for dessert, the four of us requested the Café Gourmand which was served on this humongous platter of perfection; chocolate cake, apple tart, crème brûlée, slices of watermelon, and a bowl of freshly whipped cream. It didn’t take me long to remember how I had survived for so long without Tex-Mex.
If you would, please forgive the quality of the photos. While the lighting in Le Tournebride is lovely for dining, it’s pretty bad for iphone photography. But even though I knew the lighting wouldn’t be conducive for decent blog photos, it still didn’t stop me from capturing this cuteness…
Clearly, somethings never change.
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Behind The Photos XVIII
For this edition of Behind the Photos, I’m going back to my first trip to Lyon; the destination of Gregory’s and my first wedding anniversary, celebratory getaway in March 2011. I’m hoping that by looking at these photos and reminiscing, I might remember what it feels like to be married, because truthfully, thanks to this extra-long, drawn out, Green Card bupkis, I feel like I’m forgetting.
We chose Lyon for our getaway because of its reputation as the ‘gastronomic capital of France’. The fact that there is a Starbucks there, is the reason I chose it. True story, and a perfect example of how far expats will go sometimes for a taste of home. That photo there is Gregory in our hotel room only a few minutes after we had checked in, planning our route to my vanilla latte.
Look at me up there smiling and giddy with sugar and caffeine. I’ve got my grande vanilla latte in one hand, and my new Starbucks city mug, Lyon edition, in the other. It’s funny, because in the eight months since I’ve been back in the States, I’ve had Starbucks exactly three times; once as soon I arrived because I had to, once on an early morning drive from Austin to keep me awake, and last week to get my hands on a Gingerbread Latte (when it comes to seasonal Starbucks, I skip the PSL and go Christmas every time).
Here’s Gregory smiling which is very rare. Not that he doesn’t smile, he does, but he hates smiling in photographs, mainly because he hates photographs. I think he was smiling here because our task of the day was completed, the task being Starbucks of course. Gregory doesn’t particularly care about Starbucks, if I twist his arm he might order like a smoothie, or a sandwich, or if he’s feeling extra fancy, a hot chocolate. Gregory is very French when it comes to his coffee; he only likes it small in one of those tiny cups and never, ever, to go. Oh, and he was also probably smiling because we were on our way to find someplace to eat lunch. Lunch makes Gregory happy.
Twinkies! We found the best place for lunch! For the life of me I can’t remember the name and that kills me (I had planned on looking up the place when we got back to The LPV, but unfortunately, as soon as we got back, this badness happened, and thoughts of the restaurant flitted away), but I remember eating there, soaking up the elegant, yet cozy atmosphere, and thinking that I’d love to live in Lyon, and if I did, I’d eat at that restaurant all the time. What kind of person would move to a city based on one restaurant? Probably the same type that picks a holiday destination on whether there’s a Starbucks there or not.
Look, I have wings! Does that ever happen to anyone else when they ponytail their hair, you get wings? Gregory, if you’re reading this, thank you for letting me know that I had major fly aways while you were taking my photo, way to have my back buddy. OK, ignore the wings. This was our ‘dessert’ at Les Halles Paul Bocuse. If you like food, then you have to make a pilgrimage to Les Halles sometime in your life. Trust me, you won’t be disappointed. So, this is me with my dessert; a glass of white wine and a dozen oysters. I’m savory, not sweet.
And here’s cranky pants Gregory. I wish I could remember what his scrunched up, grouchy face was about, but I can’t. I can tell you however, that it was most likely because he was tired of walking, or hungry, or I made him go into a shop or something. Those are pretty much the only things that make for cranky pants Gregory (except for having to wait over a year for a Green Card of course). -
Au Revoir Paris, Bonjour Toulon
This post continues on from where this one left off, so we’re going to shake off our November blues, and travel back in time to France in July.
Gregory and I had one perfect day in Paris, and I had planned on getting at least another half of one in before heading south to Toulon, but Gregory messed up. That’s right, I’m throwing my husband under the bus (or train as the case may be), he messed up. Instead of buying TGV tickets for late in the afternoon, giving us time to actually do some more stuff in Paris before having to leave, he booked the 12:49 train. 12:49, that’s just awkward.
A 12:49 train means that a trip to Musée d’Orsay was practically impossible (logistically, it just wouldn’t work), so once again, hanging out with my favorite Impressionists wasn’t happening, and 12:49 also meant that lunch would be a very rushed affair, and as any Francophile knows, lunch, should simply not be rushed.
But being the positive Polly that I try to be, I came up with another plan; we would have time for a stroll around the Eiffel Tower and Les Invalides, followed by sushi at a Japanese restaurant I had spotted around the corner from the hotel. Sushi was quick, and since the sign on the door said that they opened at 11 o’clock, I figured we’d definitely have time to do that before making our way towards Gare de Lyon.
So at 11AM, on the dot, we walked through the open doors of the Sushi place and were shown to a table. And then we waited, and waited, and finally twenty minutes later left, without even having been handed a menu. WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT YOU ARE OPEN AT 11AM IF YOU AREN’T ACTUALLY READY TO OPEN?! Ah, France, sometimes I really miss you, and sometimes I really don’t.
But, I did end up getting my French lunch (I’m all about my French lunch), and even better, in a super-duper efficient brasserie in the train station. It wasn’t bad at all for train station food, and in fairness, a glass of Rosé helped (confession: it was more like petit pichet).
And after I grabbed a Frappuccino from the train station Starbucks (I heart you Paris, I really do), we climbed on board the TGV and were dashing along the French countryside.The train journey was nice, I enjoyed it. After ten days apart, I had Gregory all to myself in a confined space. He did his best to sleep, but I wasn’t having it. I missed out on Musée d’Orsay, he was going to miss out on sleep. We chatted and tic-tac-toed until the three and half hours had flown by and we were pulling into the Toulon station where Mr. London was meeting us.
Of course when we stepped off the train, he was nowhere to be found. We looked around the station and couldn’t spot him anywhere and as we walked outside, Gregory’s phone rang. It was Mr. London saying he could see us. We scanned the crowds and he laughed. He could see us, but we couldn’t see him and he thought it was hysterical. And then Gregory had a light bulb moment and led me across the street into the bar on the corner, and sure enough, Mr. London was sitting there chuckling (he finds himself awfully amusing).
One glass of Rosé later, and I was on my way to The London’s. And before I knew it, I was poolside with Mrs. London, glass of chilled pink in hand (in the new monogrammed sippy cups I had brought with me), and gossiping like I had never left. -
ouf
// I can safely say, without a shadow of a doubt, that if I was still in The LPV, I would have had at least two Raclettes by now this fall. How can I be so sure? Because that’s how many Gregory has had; two Raclettes, both last week! I hate him. (j/k)
// Besides stuffing himself with delicious, gooey cheese and potatoes, Gregory’s been chowing down on good ol’ Le Petit Village pizza van, pizza. Last Friday he headed up that way to spend the evening with Honey Jr and Honey’s Honey. He was kind enough to snap a photo for me of the pie they chose; the Norvégienne, my favorite pizza van, pizza. I hate him. (j/k)
// While Gregory was hanging with The Honeys, my oh so exciting Saturday night at home with my mother consisted of a round of cards, followed by the movie, Up, which neither of us have ever seen (but our reactions were pretty much like this), and Sleeping Beauty, the old, animated one from a zillion years ago, which I haven’t seen since I was a tot. After seeing that minx, Maleficent, in the cartoon version, I now want to see Angelina Jolie’s version. (Confession: I never really wanted to see it, mostly because I’ve felt like Angelina Jolie was kind of playing herself in the movie, and I was like, meh. Harsh, yes, but my opinion.)
// Speaking of Angelina, have you heard that Brangelina is producing a red now to match their rosé? I wonder if it will be as over hyped and overpriced as their pink one? Probably. Me, I’m sticking to this beautiful bottle that The Honey’s gave to Gregory to bring over to me. Man, I miss The Honeys, they’re good people. (In my book, you give me wine, you’re ‘good people’.)
// And because I want to get my hands on that bottle of wine sooner rather than later, Gregory and I have decided that he’s coming to Texas for Christmas! Ho Ho Ho! (Ignore those ho ho’s. There should be no ho ho’s until after Thanksgiving. I apologize, but I’m feeling jolly.)
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two curly-headed tumbleweeds blew into town
Because I don’t want you to think that I spend all of my time here pining for Gregory and banging my head against the wall while waiting for Gregory’s green card, today I’m going to tell you about a night out on the town I had here with my buddy Lil’ John. (Btw, Lil’ John is not a blog name, it’s what I actually call him. He’s not John, he’s Lil’ John, and he will be forever, even when he’s like, eighty.)
Lil’ John and I have been friends since we were teenagers, I’m a few years older than him (probably why I call him Lil’ John) and his brother was my first boyfriend. After I ditched the brother, I practically adopted Lil’ John. He was a fixture at my house for years but when our early twenties came, we drifted. Fast forward to a few days after I arrived back in the U.S., and we were on the phone formulating a plan…
Lil’ John would come down from Austin one weekend, and we would hit up our little hometown for a night out. While I was content with dinner and a drink and then crashing back at my mother’s, Lil’ John wasn’t having it. He insisted that we stay at the Inn in town so we could ditch our cars and wreak havoc. (FYI: I’m not Lil’ John’s ‘type’ if you catch my drift, so Gregory doesn’t have a problem with me shacking up with him in a hotel room.)
From the very second Lil’ John arrived at my house to pick me up, until the next morning, we laughed. We laughed until our cheeks hurt, and it felt like our guts would bust. I wish I could go into every tiny detail of laughter, but that’s impossible of course, so I’ll give the evening highlight reel.
The first stop on our night out was the Inn to check in and have a drink at the bar there. A lady sitting a couple of stools down from us looked at Lil’ John’s long ringlets and asked (somewhat bitchily I must add), “how long does it take you to curl your hair?“
Lil’ John’s response; “six hours.” Cue laughter.Our next stop was the local wine bar. This place serves glasses of wine from vending machines! Isn’t that the greatest thing ever?! You stick a card in it, press a button, and it pours you a glass of wine. It’s basically my new mecca. It’s also where I discovered one of my favorite new wines, and get this, it’s from Mexico! Who knew?!
Deciding that it was best to fill our bellies with something other than wine we went out for dinner; a lovely two hour affair where we sat on a table overlooking the small river that runs through town and chatted. We were just the same as we had always been, except much, much older of course.
After dinner we strolled across the street headed to a local event called, Hot Rod Night (people bring their flashy retro cars, a band plays, and we all hang out drinking beer… it’s 100% pure Americana), but on the way, some loud music distracted so we followed it and discovered a rocking little beer garden tucked away behind a restaurant.
We hung out there for a bit harassing the bartender (who is now a buddy of Gregory’s and mine) and shouting requests at the band (PLAY FREE BIRD!) before finally making our way down to the hot rods.
Hot Rod night was in full swing! The road was closed off so people could show off their rides and the band was hopping. But there was one thing missing… nobody was dancing. Well that’s where we came in. Lil’ John starred as Kevin Bacon, our town was that one from Footloose, and by golly, THE WHOLE TOWN WOULD DANCE!
Lil’ John hit the dance floor (the dance road anyway) right in the middle of everyone, and started shaking his groove thing while the crowd looked on wondering who the crazy spazz was. I couldn’t leave him out there flailing about on his own so I had to join him. And then eventually, one by one, the dancing bug spread and loads of people got up to bop around, including the “how long does it take to curl your hair” lady.
It was quite the evening. I could go on and on, but I’ll just say that it was definitely one for the books and we made loads of friends and left quite a few impressions, some unbeknown to us because the next morning as we went for coffee, an older lady smiled at us and said “you two are up awfully early for people who were up so late.” We smiled back, nodded our heads, said “yes m’am” (because we’re Texas like that) and carried on our way. To this day, we have no idea who that lady was.
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It's Me, Sara Louise 