Secret Location 02/15/12: Flea Market

Pence and Lorna  power shopping.

Wanna deal on a walker?

Miss TEXAS 2012

Pence and Gunnar smart talking. We have known each other for 50 years. I love this photo. Thanks Lorna.

I went to this flea market planning on just enjoying the show. I came away with a small drill-press for the Growlery.

Secret Location 02/15/12: Grocery Shopping

This one is probably going to blow the Where's Waldo.

A vendor mugging for the camera. And the backside of  Larry Pence.

  It is beautiful and it smells of good food in the best possible way.

Secret Location 02/14/12: White Ibis

Sorry, no good photos. They were beyond my optics, but they were the most spectacular of the day's new life list notches.

Secret Location 02/14/12: Hawks

I was probably wrong in naming the White Ibis the "most spectacular". That Harris Hawk is really pretty fine.

Red Shouldered Hawk

Harris Hawk

Secret Location 02/14/12: Great Egret

Secret Location 2/14/12: Ducks

We probably saw a couple of dozen species of waterfowl. I should have been more organized, more diligent taking photos. I got wrapped up just watching them. Then it became more overcast and I went for my regular prescription glasses. The case was missing from my shirt pocket. I apparently lost them on the trail, so we spent half the day backtracking, trying to find them. No luck. But when we got back to the car they were in my camera case. Lorna was a little cranky, but helpful. A mystery to me.

A professional bird guy has I.D'd the bottom picture as an immature Shoveler.

Letters from a Secret Location No.2

The day started out cool and foggy. Warmed up throughout the day to warm sunshine. Lorna is on the private rear deck, scantily cad, soaking up rays. I will be joining her soon.

Our Secret Location

 

The Oxbow Steakhouse

Two days ago, on our way to our secret location, we stopped for the evening in Emporia, Kansas. Having motored across the state looking at acres of cattle waiting to be cut up (the Flint Hills are spectacular), I had high expectations. After booking a room, we asked where good local fare could be had. We were sent to Montana Mike's Steakhouse. It was brutal. It was fake cowboy with fake cowboy decor and, unfortunately, fake food. The beer list was so limited I had a Coke. Note to waiters everywhere, Blue Moon is not craft beer. To hopefully save the meal I ordered a Scotch on the rocks. They filled the glass full of ice, poured a little liquor over it and charged me $7.50. :-(  We went back to the motel, had a glass of wine and went to bed.

Serendipity can be a wonderful thing. Pushing on down the road the next day, night found us nearing Austin, Texas. Checking into a motel we discovered there was a rodeo in Austin, a youth livestock show, the National Team Roping Competition and a large local wedding. The was no room at the inn. We were forced to double back up the road to the La Quinta in Belton. By the time we got checked in and settled down I was hungry and extremely cranky. Though recently burned, I asked for a recommendation for dining. We were send to a steakhouse within walking distant of the modern francise motor hotel. In fact it was in front of the La Quinta - between the La Quinta and I-35.

The Oxbow Steakhouse is historic. It has been here for a long time. They used to auction off cattle on the first floor and had a steakhouse in the back. The cattle pens are long gone, but the food lives on. Now it's home cooking, families, and still, real working cowboys. We had almost the same meal as we ordered the night before - a small steak with a couple of sides, etc, except one of the sides was deep fried okra. Everything, including a killer chocolate fudge desert, was made from scratch. The steak was so good I chewed to excess, Let it linger in my mouth as long a possible. God, the food was good. And they had real beer.

Pug

For George - but someone already drank the beer.

Evening Blues

Standin' barefoot in your kitchen door
Listenin' to the soft evenin' rain
Watchin' you dryin' off from your shower
You look at me like you don't know my name
Then you heat the coffee on the stove
Pull the cup down from the shelf
And slowly turn your back on me
As I sing a blues song to myself.

Yeah I wish that I could hold you baby
But you seem so far away
Yeah I wish that I could kiss you baby
But I've run out of sweet words to say
And I wish that I could hear
Yeah I wish that I could hear
The blues you sing to yourself.

Now all the makeup is washed off your face
And your hair is slicked back wet
You hung the dress up you wore last night
And changed the sheets on your bed
All the promises you whispered to me
I guess they're meant for someone else
Cause all I hear is the soft evenin' rain
And the blues that I sing to myself.

Yeah I wish that I could hold you baby
But you seem so far away
Yeah I wish that I could kiss you baby
But I've run out of sweet words to say
And I wish that I could hear
Oh I wish that I could hear
The blues you sing to yourself
The blues you sing to yourself.

Now would you care if I walked out this door
Baby I can't really tell
Our eyes meet but we just look away
And sing our blues to ourselves.
Yeah I wish that could hold you baby
But you seem so far away
Yeah I wish that I could kiss you baby
But I've run out of sweet words to say
And I wish that I could hear
Yeah I wish that I could hear
The blues you sing
The blues
The blues you sing to yourself.

Minneapolis

A cheery winter song. Bleak and dark.

A happy ending. She ended up marrying him on the stage of the First Avenue Bar ... in Minneapolis.



I've been waiting for you to come back
Since you left Minneapolis
Snow covers the streetlamps and the windowsills
The buildings and the brittle crooked trees
Dead leaves of December
Thin skinned and splintered
Never gotten used to this bitter winter

I've been wasted, angry and sad
Since you left Minneapolis
I wish my thoughts were pure like the driven snow
Like the heavens and the spring's virgin buds
But they strangle me with their sin
Fill me up with poison
Black clouds have covered up the sun again

I can always trace it back
To that night in Minneapolis
Here on the seventh floor in a room I can't call mine
Deadbolt on the door, do not disturb sign
Shaking and trembling
On the clean white linen
Slivers of starlight across the ceiling

A dozen yellow roses
All that's left in Minneapolis
I wish I'd never seen your face or heard your voice
You're a bad pain in my gut
I wanna spit you out
Open up this wound again
Let my blood flow red and thin
Into the glistening
Into the whiteness
Into the melting snow of Minneapolis