Just a fact.
The storms hit today. Glad I wasn't on the road. There's been a Tropical Depression worrying the Gulf and Florida and it started moving through.
But me -- I was warm and dry in a house full of family. So, despite the fact that I do hear the road callin', I do not find myself between Scylla and Charybdis. Not because of the weather. Because the precious time with these people is hard to come by and the road is always there.
So it was an easy day of visits and conversations, of walking like penguins and talking of cows and monkeys. A day of naps and doing what one wanted or the simple demands of a two year old required. It was finally a day of saying good night to the moon (la lune).
Along the way I fixed my handlebars -- the mechanic was wrong, didn't take 10 minutes, took about 5.
Along the way I left my helmet, upside down, on the 'scoot in the middle of a torrential downpour. My friend, John, who's ridden this country forever, when I told him about it, laughed and said: "yeah, but it's cool..." (it was, too, when I road home).
Along the way we went down to Lafayette for the Art Walk and sushi. Now, I've got to tell you -- I know the art scene in Lafayette's always been pretty good (creative area, always has been), but sushi? I mean I live in California, fer goodness sake -- sushi's important to us. My expression of surprise at how good this was prompted from my daughter The Look (it's a family thing) and a reminder of where I was. "Dad", she said, "don't you remember how seriously we take food down here?". (Oh, yeah, and you just picked up being an insane foodie in the street, didn't you Tim...).
We wandered around downtown, dropping into galleries as we shuffled through the close, muggy Acadian evening. I spent most of it lost, it's changed so much, but occasionally stumbling upon a familiar sight. Keller's bakery, which makes the best King Cakes; past Dwyer's, lookin' rather fancy now, but in the old days you could get an honest to goodness "Blue Plate Special" there for cheap; on by the breezeway at the bank where my company would set up a BBQ and we'd all eat sausage and chicken as we watched the parade at Carnival (Mardi Gras) and the woman, the mother, walking by me tonight with her husband and child was the size of her little girl and would sit on my shoulders to watch the floats and yell out "Throw me somthin' Mister..." and laugh with glee as coins and beads rained down around us.
Then to Borden's.
Got to tell you about Borden's.
Back about 80 years ago or so, before the Interstates and refrigerated tankers and such, the Borden company built "cooling stations" for the trucks that had to carry the milk more than a hundred miles or so. They'd stop, run the milk through cooling tubes to get it cold enough so it wouldn't spoil, pump it back in the truck and head on off to wherever. Along about the end of the Depression, just before WW II, they turned this one into an ice cream parlor. There it sat for generations of Acadian folks. Kind of a landmark, they had some employees that worked there for over 50 years. Started to go down hill in the '80s and '90s. Few years back a local boy made good bought the place, turned it over to his daughter and she set about putting it back to it's Art-Deco sliding into the Forties glory.
We sat there, memories flooding back, spinning on vinyl counter stools as we slurped up an America that rarely exists anymore.
So while I heard, as a faint echo, that ol' Road, singin' her siren song, I wasn't bitin' tonight. Keep singin', I told her. Been on you all my life. I hear you and I know you own me -- always have, always will -- and my tires will be on you soon enough. But not tonight.
Tonight -- I'm having ice cream with Sofia.
The storms hit today. Glad I wasn't on the road. There's been a Tropical Depression worrying the Gulf and Florida and it started moving through.
But me -- I was warm and dry in a house full of family. So, despite the fact that I do hear the road callin', I do not find myself between Scylla and Charybdis. Not because of the weather. Because the precious time with these people is hard to come by and the road is always there.
So it was an easy day of visits and conversations, of walking like penguins and talking of cows and monkeys. A day of naps and doing what one wanted or the simple demands of a two year old required. It was finally a day of saying good night to the moon (la lune).
Along the way I fixed my handlebars -- the mechanic was wrong, didn't take 10 minutes, took about 5.
Along the way I left my helmet, upside down, on the 'scoot in the middle of a torrential downpour. My friend, John, who's ridden this country forever, when I told him about it, laughed and said: "yeah, but it's cool..." (it was, too, when I road home).
Along the way we went down to Lafayette for the Art Walk and sushi. Now, I've got to tell you -- I know the art scene in Lafayette's always been pretty good (creative area, always has been), but sushi? I mean I live in California, fer goodness sake -- sushi's important to us. My expression of surprise at how good this was prompted from my daughter The Look (it's a family thing) and a reminder of where I was. "Dad", she said, "don't you remember how seriously we take food down here?". (Oh, yeah, and you just picked up being an insane foodie in the street, didn't you Tim...).
We wandered around downtown, dropping into galleries as we shuffled through the close, muggy Acadian evening. I spent most of it lost, it's changed so much, but occasionally stumbling upon a familiar sight. Keller's bakery, which makes the best King Cakes; past Dwyer's, lookin' rather fancy now, but in the old days you could get an honest to goodness "Blue Plate Special" there for cheap; on by the breezeway at the bank where my company would set up a BBQ and we'd all eat sausage and chicken as we watched the parade at Carnival (Mardi Gras) and the woman, the mother, walking by me tonight with her husband and child was the size of her little girl and would sit on my shoulders to watch the floats and yell out "Throw me somthin' Mister..." and laugh with glee as coins and beads rained down around us.
Then to Borden's.
Back about 80 years ago or so, before the Interstates and refrigerated tankers and such, the Borden company built "cooling stations" for the trucks that had to carry the milk more than a hundred miles or so. They'd stop, run the milk through cooling tubes to get it cold enough so it wouldn't spoil, pump it back in the truck and head on off to wherever. Along about the end of the Depression, just before WW II, they turned this one into an ice cream parlor. There it sat for generations of Acadian folks. Kind of a landmark, they had some employees that worked there for over 50 years. Started to go down hill in the '80s and '90s. Few years back a local boy made good bought the place, turned it over to his daughter and she set about putting it back to it's Art-Deco sliding into the Forties glory.
We sat there, memories flooding back, spinning on vinyl counter stools as we slurped up an America that rarely exists anymore.
So while I heard, as a faint echo, that ol' Road, singin' her siren song, I wasn't bitin' tonight. Keep singin', I told her. Been on you all my life. I hear you and I know you own me -- always have, always will -- and my tires will be on you soon enough. But not tonight.
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