"Baby, we're only 140 miles from Atlanta Motor Speedway, want to go to the race?"
"You bet!"
Within minutes we had tickets and a parking place for the motorhome St. Patrick's weekend. Pack, plan and invite friends; it's more fun when shared.
There's the race and then there's all the other stuff that happens. On St. Patrick's day we parked in Legends Campground behind a rented RV from Canada. Visiting with the lady of the group we learned that she was from MARS - a slim, trim, blue-eyed blonde that sounded Mid-western. We know NASCAR is the fastest growing sport among women, but Mars? How many rocks from the sun is that?
To our delight, two of our house guests were adolescent boys who found it more interesting to exit the motorhome's two steps sliding on their bellies. JB flipped a coin for them to claim which set of earplugs. We gathered coolers and coats and headed for the "Rebuilt Real Fast" stands. It was a mountain climb to our seats in the 69th row of the Champion's.
The boys watched the Craftsman Truck Race until the need for food, or a diversion, took over. Just once Mr. G. showed them the way down. Thereafter, they navigated on their own returning with a funnel cake one time, and space ice cream others. I liked the mint chocolate best. Todd Bodine won.
Back at camp we set our little grill on the grass to similate a campfire. It didn't take the boys long to discover they could make flames by adding dry grass. JB cut a metal coat hanger in half for roasting marshmallows. We put the slightly dark ones between mint patties. The blackened ones dropped on the hot coals and swelled up - a science experiment.
Before Saturday's Nicorette 300 Busch race we put our small charcoal grill on our plastic table to cook hotdogs and polish sausage. We didn't notice it was melting through. The indentation resembles a large butterfly hurled hard and fast, or are those Martian footprints? Mr. G autographed our "less table, more conversation piece." Jeff Burton won.
Sunday just JB and I treked the half-mile to the track in our rain-gear with coolers and sandwiches, took our seats in the Champion stands, and waited. Spits of rain. National Anthem. Drivers in their cars. Drivers out. Trucks busy drying the track. Drizzle. Real rain. Race delayed until Monday at eleven. Close together and fast drops parted the sea of spectators into stayers and leavers. We stayed. It was our seventh race, and the first that was a rain delay.
Ms. MARS came by happily saying, "It was an eighteen hour drive from north of Toronto. We;re staying. It's my first race." Her husband had been to Talladega, and came home with a smile. No doubt. We've been to that Red Neck Mardi Gras: beads, boobs and painted on bikinis.
Mon. we heard, "Gentlemen....start your engines!" I soooo want to say that. The race was on. We were up and down, intrigued by each caution, and thankful no one was seriously hurt. Kasey Kahne won.
The crowd was thin. Our Canadian friend came to say bye. I overheard her admit she had worked at the MARS candy factory, but I never saw a trace of chocolate on her face or any samples.
It didn't seem like such a big deal to leave after the race with fewer spectators, but it took us five hours to go 140 miles. Stop and go to Atlanta. It was so slow, guys who needed relief dashed out to the ditch, and lined up like a busload of French school kids.
copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Saturday, April 15, 2006
MSN Photo.
Happy Spring! Happy Easter!
I love sheep and the smell of wet wool. The lanolin in the wool is healing to the hands. I bought a dyed purple sheepskin in Virginia that laid on the bed for years. We raised deserted lambs on the farm. It stunned us the mother would reject her own. Lambs have the prettiest face.
Friday, April 14, 2006
About Easter
This Easter we will walk across the street to the Methodist Church established in Friar's Point, MS, in 1834. Our Easter dinner will be a surprise later in the day on our way home. That's okay, we have lots of miles to cross.
Back home, Papa had to have a Lilly plant. Some families placed theirs in front of the church altar in memory of someone dear. Sneezes interjected the services.
Easter was sunrise youth services first, and then breakfast. The eleven o'clock service was a celebration in choir music. Lent was over. My Presbyterian background doesn't require giving anything up, but it keeps me in touch with the Passion. I didn't accomplish much giving up food, I did better working on giving up a bad habit. (Sometimes it took more than one Lent.)
The year I attended Easter services at the Assembly of God in Warner Robbins, GA, they put on a live performance of the Passion with a cast of dozens. The motion and commotion made further inroads in my belief bank, as does hearing the recorded voice of a deceased famous person.
Seeing the Passion Play at Spearfish, SD, made the whole business real and overwhelming; I forgot my childhood responsibility of keeping track of our family's dirty clothes. Several hundred miles later I confessed. Dad discovered his Masonic affiliation's worth when he went to buy us jackets. I don't remember he ever thanked me. Minnie liked my white imitation leather jacket better than hers. It had more colorful embroidery on it. She nagged me to look down knowing full well it would scare and sicken me. I liked mine too, and did not look down.
In Nashville, TN, the Easter service I attended was without piano or organ accompaniment. I was thankful they weren't relying on me to lead. Afterwards I learned it's their custom. Whatever works, there's no limiting God.
My daughters fondly remember new dresses, hats, white gloves, white straw purses, and paten-leather shoes for church, finding the marshmallow chicks under the front seat of the car and eating them, and hunting for the eggs they'd decorated.
Easter dinners involved the best dishes, linens, crystal, elaborate Ukrainian hand-decorated eggs displayed, and the ceramic rabbit pulling a cart filled with artificial grass and plastic eggs full of M&Ms - a lot of fuss.
We served Papa's homemade wine, ham, scalloped potatoes, asparagus or green beans, five-cup, Watergate or pretzel salad, deviled eggs, horn rolls, kolaches, and hot-cross buns. Dessert was angelfood cake with strawberries and whipped cream. One year a guest brought a cake in the shape of a lamb frosted white and covered with coconut. Yummy. And one more thing: all our guests, even those over eighty, hunted eggs. And a good time was had by all.
The times we did Easter brunch we used our clear purple dishes. They're springy. We bought service for eight at a fleamarket in Minnesota. Having left our boat motor at the lodge for fall fishing gave us just enough trunk space.
Our eyes were fed by the rich colors of the dishes, plump blueberries; cool green kiwi slices; juicy melon slivers; warm, buttery croissants, and Mexican eggs topped with hot Salsa. Dessert was a slice of Napoleon, the Lithuania tort made with custard and apricot between thin pastry layers.
We attend church and gather with family and friends to celebrate our Christian heritage. God's love and forgiveness for us, and Jesus Christ's cooperation with His plan for our benefit, is a knee bender. Thank you.
copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series
Back home, Papa had to have a Lilly plant. Some families placed theirs in front of the church altar in memory of someone dear. Sneezes interjected the services.
Easter was sunrise youth services first, and then breakfast. The eleven o'clock service was a celebration in choir music. Lent was over. My Presbyterian background doesn't require giving anything up, but it keeps me in touch with the Passion. I didn't accomplish much giving up food, I did better working on giving up a bad habit. (Sometimes it took more than one Lent.)
The year I attended Easter services at the Assembly of God in Warner Robbins, GA, they put on a live performance of the Passion with a cast of dozens. The motion and commotion made further inroads in my belief bank, as does hearing the recorded voice of a deceased famous person.
Seeing the Passion Play at Spearfish, SD, made the whole business real and overwhelming; I forgot my childhood responsibility of keeping track of our family's dirty clothes. Several hundred miles later I confessed. Dad discovered his Masonic affiliation's worth when he went to buy us jackets. I don't remember he ever thanked me. Minnie liked my white imitation leather jacket better than hers. It had more colorful embroidery on it. She nagged me to look down knowing full well it would scare and sicken me. I liked mine too, and did not look down.
In Nashville, TN, the Easter service I attended was without piano or organ accompaniment. I was thankful they weren't relying on me to lead. Afterwards I learned it's their custom. Whatever works, there's no limiting God.
My daughters fondly remember new dresses, hats, white gloves, white straw purses, and paten-leather shoes for church, finding the marshmallow chicks under the front seat of the car and eating them, and hunting for the eggs they'd decorated.
Easter dinners involved the best dishes, linens, crystal, elaborate Ukrainian hand-decorated eggs displayed, and the ceramic rabbit pulling a cart filled with artificial grass and plastic eggs full of M&Ms - a lot of fuss.
We served Papa's homemade wine, ham, scalloped potatoes, asparagus or green beans, five-cup, Watergate or pretzel salad, deviled eggs, horn rolls, kolaches, and hot-cross buns. Dessert was angelfood cake with strawberries and whipped cream. One year a guest brought a cake in the shape of a lamb frosted white and covered with coconut. Yummy. And one more thing: all our guests, even those over eighty, hunted eggs. And a good time was had by all.
The times we did Easter brunch we used our clear purple dishes. They're springy. We bought service for eight at a fleamarket in Minnesota. Having left our boat motor at the lodge for fall fishing gave us just enough trunk space.
Our eyes were fed by the rich colors of the dishes, plump blueberries; cool green kiwi slices; juicy melon slivers; warm, buttery croissants, and Mexican eggs topped with hot Salsa. Dessert was a slice of Napoleon, the Lithuania tort made with custard and apricot between thin pastry layers.
We attend church and gather with family and friends to celebrate our Christian heritage. God's love and forgiveness for us, and Jesus Christ's cooperation with His plan for our benefit, is a knee bender. Thank you.
copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series
Saturday, April 01, 2006
Jax New Orleans Bistro
The scent of wisteria followed us to the center of Anderson, South Carolina. Thank God it's Friday! No more fast food or planned overs, it's "dine out" time. During the week I'd noticed outside tables at a place called Jax.
Perhaps it was a smidge too cool, the outside tables were empty. We opted for the lounge side where people could smoke and we could visit with other guests who felt chatty. Feathered masks decorate the wall behind the bar. Soft music. Low light.
Seated, JB took his glasses off and held them up, "Look at the scratches." Even in dim light they looked like he cleans them with sandpaper.
"Can you see anything without them?"
"I can see the "X" on the far wall."
"X"! It's crossed swords!"
Glasses on, he ordered New Orleans Style "Barbecue" Shrimp served over Maque Choux. Superb! The creamy corn tasted smokey, a perfect match with the shrimp. He didn't need glasses to know it was wonderful.
I ordered Crawfish Etoufee. I like mine shucked. Served on a square white plate with a molded mound of rice, four Haricot Vert, and wisps of green onion, the presentation was perfect. A bite of spice on the tip of my tongue, the rest on the back, convinced me it was New Orleans style. Wonderful!
For dessert I couldn't decide between a chocolate & pistachio tartlet or praline creme brulee, so I ordered a grasshopper. They made it with whipping cream and ice cream. Delicious. Our server, Lydia, tempted us with a sample of Beignet bread pudding with bourbon sauce. Super!
We'll be back. There's more to try: Duck Confit Salad, Blistered Corn and Crawfish Chowder, Chickory Coffee Seared Salmon, and Sunday Brunch for a few. The city of New Orleans may never be the same, but the food survives. Jax is doing it right, and it's no April Fool joke.
copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series
Perhaps it was a smidge too cool, the outside tables were empty. We opted for the lounge side where people could smoke and we could visit with other guests who felt chatty. Feathered masks decorate the wall behind the bar. Soft music. Low light.
Seated, JB took his glasses off and held them up, "Look at the scratches." Even in dim light they looked like he cleans them with sandpaper.
"Can you see anything without them?"
"I can see the "X" on the far wall."
"X"! It's crossed swords!"
Glasses on, he ordered New Orleans Style "Barbecue" Shrimp served over Maque Choux. Superb! The creamy corn tasted smokey, a perfect match with the shrimp. He didn't need glasses to know it was wonderful.
I ordered Crawfish Etoufee. I like mine shucked. Served on a square white plate with a molded mound of rice, four Haricot Vert, and wisps of green onion, the presentation was perfect. A bite of spice on the tip of my tongue, the rest on the back, convinced me it was New Orleans style. Wonderful!
For dessert I couldn't decide between a chocolate & pistachio tartlet or praline creme brulee, so I ordered a grasshopper. They made it with whipping cream and ice cream. Delicious. Our server, Lydia, tempted us with a sample of Beignet bread pudding with bourbon sauce. Super!
We'll be back. There's more to try: Duck Confit Salad, Blistered Corn and Crawfish Chowder, Chickory Coffee Seared Salmon, and Sunday Brunch for a few. The city of New Orleans may never be the same, but the food survives. Jax is doing it right, and it's no April Fool joke.
copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series
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