|Rusty was very happy to see Frank|
Rusty jumped higher than I did when we saw the U-haul chugging up our dirt road trailing a wagging tail of dust behind it. Bruce, in the little Chevy, followed in its wake making his own dust trail. Both guys looked a bit haggard.
|Rusty finds unpacking very boring|
I wish I could post some pictures. I forgot my camera but took some pics on my phone. Trouble is we traded in our Sprint phones for Verizon before I took the pictures off. I'll try to paint the picture:
Cute bar that has seen its better days. On the mirror behind the bar, a couple of house drink specials were listed - one of which was
"F--- you juice $4.50".That should help with the feel of the place! Fifty something bar maid, dressed like a teenager, long black hair and friendly as hell with a voice that reflected too many cigarettes and too much whiskey. A grey-mustached, ball cap wearing guy with thin legs and a round belly who hung on the edge of the bar, behind it so that you might think he owned the place but couldn't tell for sure. A really old, fat, half-lit codger sitting at the bar who used the F word as an adjective in every sentence. A nondescript couple who came in late. A young, skinny guy who sat at the first stool as you walked in the door. A stool away from him, a man in his thirties who either stared in his beer or at the TV screen. Not much of a crowd. So much for mingling with the locals. The waitress brought us popcorn and the drinks were cheap. Retired people like cheap. She also promised chili dogs when the chili was hot. Frank had one, Bruce and I passed. Frank said the only good thing about them - they were free.
Frank hasn't found his 'Cheers' yet. Not sure where the Super Bowl crowd hung out but we didn't find that either.
A Mexican man carrying tamales came in with a big smile on his face and very little English in his vocab. Maybe-an-owner-guy took several bags and told us these were the best tamales anywhere. I bought a bag. They were still hot and steaming. $13 a dozen. We had some of them a day later and oh my! He wasn't kidding.
A few parting comments for today:
One week off the Internet equals 93 emails on my personal address and 247 on my business address.
Unpacking a thousand boxes takes twice as long now as it did fifteen years ago.
Will I ever have nails again?
Mirrors should not surround your tub if you're over forty.