Saturday The Fourteenth

Cats who listen to Weekend Edition on NPR typically look like this.

I lay in bed this morning luxuriating until 7:30 or so and listening to NPR's Weekend Edition by Scott Simons. He covered several news topics: Iraq, Jazz Musicians, LA Kings winning The Stanley Cup, Netherlands win versus Spain World Cup, announced 25^th anniversary and release of some previously unreleased music by Roy Orbison (What an operatic voice!), and for Father's day he interviewed author John Moe. He wrote: Dear Luke, We Need to Talk, Darth: And Other Pop Culture Correspondences. Book was written using correspondences from various well known entities. It was very funny. I promptly went to Amazon.com and ordered the book. I shall giggle without restraint upon receipt and a quick read.

Also having successfully survived Friday the thirteenth, I celebrated this morning. I washed some bed linens (Sounds so much better than tired old sheets) and rewarded myself by making French Toast with walnut topping. I am virtually certain there are at least a couple of vital amines in there somewhere.

I received a jury duty notice this week for the period of July 1 through July 11. Bother. I have an appointment in Roseburg on the first that I shall cancel and reschedule.

Our old buggy has developed a slow electrical leak and/or we just don't drive enough to keep the battery charged. We have been rescued by The Les Schwab boys a couple of times. The Honda had to be jumped as well. I recommend a bit more travel or adopting a teenager who knows no limits of car usage. Slap myself.

The running around I did as a youth: When I lived in the Bay Area in the 60's when gas was cheap it was nothing to put a couple hundred miles on the 57 Volkswagon by driving from San Rafael to SFO just to WATCH THE PLANES LAND....and the occasional youthful military man. Loved the Marine dress uniform.

One very stupid Winter weekend I and my good friend Judy Jones, her sister Betty and two other girls hopped in her very large Pontiac DeVille and drove to Winnemucca from San Rafael. It. Was. Winter. In. The. Dark. As we approached the summit on the California side of the border it began to snow...heavily. Had to stop at one point to wipe snow off the lights. Betty was driving. Judy was coaching “Go to the left.” “Go to the right!”. Made it through Reno and kept right on chugging to Winnemucca. Got there about 2 a.m. We stopped at one of the popular downtown casinos for breakfast. The five of us minced into the restaurant in our finery and there were several Airmen (There was a radar site on the mountain) sitting there. Boy did we get a very thorough male assessment. The weekend passed with a lot of dancing and a 48 hour party. We didn't learn our lesson. Once Betty had moved there to be with her husband who was stationed at the Radar site, we went back for a return trip on 12 dollars for gas between the two of us. Oy! Racked up plenty of miles doing that.

I have reached an age where I need to travel strategically with an eye to rest stops and have come to appreciate the advice to stop and literally rest after an hour or two of driving. And I try very hard to avoid driving at night.

There was also the infamous cross country trip in the late 60's from San Rafael to Gossip Bottom Holler in West By God Virginia to visit my girl friends folks. 33 hours non-stop. Got lost in Kentucky, drove by rope bridges that crossed the creek from the highway to the other bank, saw fire flies for the first time and noted that they were exactly like the ones seen in the restaurant in Pirates of The Carribean at Disneyland. During a thundershower we all washed our hair in the down spouts of her Mom's house. The local car wash was a nicely located water fall on a back road, moon shine was available in a certain stump and fighting cocks were kept in round chicken wire cages here and there. I discovered the town was segregated despite the Civil Rights Act. Black people went to the drive in movie on certain nights and same for the bowling alley. And I learned that the people were exquisetly polite, when shown a baby and they weren't sure of the sex of the child, they would comment, “Oh, Ain't it purty!”. I. Am. Not. Making. Any. Of. This. Up.

Have a nice Saturday. Gotta go put wash in the dryer.