Mind Your Pees and Queue's Part 1

What is it about a lowly legume that makes rational people lose their freaking minds? For those of you that read these posts and have never been to Knot In The Loop or the beautiful hill country of Texas a note of explanation. The state flower of Texas is the Texas Bluebonnet and in certain years when the winter's been cold, BUT, not too cold, and the early spring's been wet, BUT, not too wet and the sun's been warm, BUT not too hot, these finicky little legumes bloom. And let me tell you when that happens the entire state goes berserk. As legumes go they are hands down, the Peacocks of the family tree, and right here in Willow City there are more per square inch of earth than anywhere in the state, but to witness the adulation that the general public bestowes is a thing of wonder, after all they are just a wild Pea.

I didn't know much about Peas several years back. I was about to marry husband #4 or maybe five, when he took me to meet his family. We met in my home state of Colorado, but he was from a fly speck town so far up in the corner of Lou-z-ana that is was really Louzassippi. It wasn't like the Cajun part where people drink and party and show their "Le Grand Chi Chi's" for some Mardi Gras beads. No, to my dismay it was in the uptight, evangelical, we worship snakes part of the state. And to make matters worse for a short haired, smokin, drinkin, Colorado girl, I wore Levi's which horrified his entire family because as I was told by his mother. "Only men wear britches and cut their hair." (Britches! I was starring in a Ma and Pa Kettle movie and role credits was still a week away.) But it was Christmas so I tried my best to fit in and not offend any one. (Too Late) Christmas day Ma made a big dinner and we all sat down, said a prayer to the snake and passed the food. Now food there is a little different and on the table was a platter of brown meat I didn't recognise, so innocent like I said, "Whats that?" And my husband said "Ham" and they're all starin at me. So I said kinda quite-er, "Uh, hams supposed to be pink with pineapple and cherries on it." And they said, "No stupid city-fied girl, Ham is a cut of meat, it's the back leg off that pig we kilt this mornin. What your talkin about is a Cured Ham, an this ain't cured cause it jus got kilt." I took a slice and shut up. Then they passed me a bowl of green vegetables that resembled something, leafy, with alot of bacon grease floating on top, (guess they had time to cure the bacon), so I say "And this is?". And they say "Greens. You do eat greens dont cha." Well actually no, but I kept that to myself and passed the bowl. My soon to be Ex-husband said "heres something you'll like and handed me a bowl of little round brown things. I looked at him kinda blank like and he says "They're Peas!" Now I have eaten peas all my life and they never looked like little brown misshapen blobs, they were always green and perfectly round and I finally spoke up about all this strangeness and his Mom said "What your talkin about is an English pea. These here are Field peas. We don't eat English Peas, cause thats where all those Yankees came from, and we don't cotton to you Yankees too much down here." About then my Levi wearnin rear end rose up from the table and I lost my freakin mind. I said, not so quitely, "Mrs Kettle, I'm from Colorado! We didn't have a dog in that fight." I needed a drink. The next day my intended took me to a local grocery store that I swear was named "The Jitney Jungle". He took me to the canned vegetable aisle and showed me the Peas. Racks and racks of Field Peas, Purple Hull Peas, Crowder Peas, Cow Peas, Black Eyed Peas, Split Peas, Yellow peas and Black Peas. But there wasn't a green pea in the bunch. Then he took me to the "import food section" and low and behold there all by itself was a can of peas, lovely little green Peas. And the lable said, Del Monte English Peas!

So now its "Pea" season in the hill country and by the throngs of touristas wearin us out at the Knot you would think someone saw the face of Mary in a field of Blue Bonnets. And while we are reaping our own harvest in those lovely green tourista dollars our poor well and septic system are overworked and threatning to go on strike. So I put a sign on the door that says:

Public Restrooms Fee Schedule:
Toilet Tissue: 25 cents
Water: 25 cents
Sewage:50 cents
Total $1.00 per pee

FINDING A RESTROOM IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE: PRICELESS

Customers Exempt



But still they come, Buses, Mini Vans, Cars, Trucks and Planes all lookin for one thing: Peas and Pees. They line up in front of the bathroom door like they're at the last Jimmy Buffet concert and gush about Peas. And I say "Ladies, please don't block our front door." and they ignore me. And I say "Please put a donation in the donation can." and they ignore me. And then I get my Levi wearin rear end up and say "Look I aint' gonna get in a pissin contest with you about a Pee. Either buy something or give me a dollar." And that usually does it. Guess I have a dog in this fight. I need a drink.

Dark, Darkness and Black Holes

It was Thanksgiving a few years ago at the Knot and to quote Snoopy "It was a dark and stormy night." Wayne cooked a great Turkey Day meal with all the fixins and some of the Knotheads showed up for a free feed. We ate and partied till the wee hours and that's when we discovered the rain had turned to ice.

Now a Texas ice storm is not for sissy's. You can talk all day about your "name the state" blizzard, and bet me it's worse, but I'll see that bet, and raise you an ice storm. The only thing louder than the howl of the wind is the rifle shot crack when a Live Oak branch hits the ground under the weight of all that ice. The roads freeze over with a layer of ice 3 inches thick and you are frozen in time until the sun finds its winter coat and reluctantly trudges back to work.

So I made an executive decision that the Knotheads would stay put for the night and by the time we opened on Black Friday we were all kind of out of it and just waitin for the roads to thaw. But the storm was not givin up without a fight, it was drizzlin rain, foggy damp, and colder than an aluminum ice cube tray. We had the wood stove on medium boil and still couldn't get the bar warm. As the day wore on and the roads took on the look of a 7-11 slurpy with out the cherry syrup I looked out the door and saw the most unbelievable thing. A man was riding a horse up our driveway. Behind him he was towing a pack mule that was well packed, and all three, man, horse and mule looked more miserable than a hooker workin a Mary Kay convention. I went out the door as he dismounted in a frozen daze. He asked in a raspy voice if I had a place to tie up the critters while he came inside to thaw out. I got them to the east side of the bar, out of the howlin wind. He tied them to a hitchin post,and I got him to the wood stove. He was an older man wearin a Black Oil Skin Duster, boots and hat to match and a look of pure misery. He didn't speak much, just made shiverin noises and hunkered around that stove like he wanted to suck all the heat out it and keep it for hisself. Of course all the knotheads were on high alert, this sort of thing just don't happen around here and we were all dying to pepper him with questions. But we were polite, gave him some time to settle in and get a feel for the place. He finally sucked up all the heat he could hold and sauntered up to the far end of the bar. He took off his duster and hat, layed them on a table and real quite like ordered a Coors Light. He pulled out a smoke and to quote David Allen Coe:
"I noticed a stranger with ghost white hair as he asked me for a light and I knew there was something strange about this ride."
Not being able to wait any longer ,I burst out with "Who, what, when, where, why?" It probably wasn't the nicest thing but we just had to know. And this is what he told us:

His name was Bob Moore and he was from a small town in Alaska, Wasilla to be exact. (I had never heard of it back then, but we have all heard of it now). He was a retired helicopter pilot who had learned to fly in Viet Nam, and after the service had went to Alaska to work the pipeline. Now he was retired and spent most his days sittin around home bored stiff. He said " Well I was sittin there one day staring at my dog, and my dog was just lickin his nuts. So I said to myself, well Bob, you can either learn to do that, or you can get up out of this chair, and go ride a horse across the state of Texas."

And that's what he did. He flew in down south of us, made some arrangements there, got a horse and a mule and started off on this epic journey that brought him to our Saloon. He wasn't planning on sticking around, just wanted to warm up and get back on his trek but he was so darn interestin that we just couldn't let him leave. The Knotheads were buyin him beers and he was buying back and before you knew it the day was gone and night ridin with a good buzz on was out of the question so he asked us if he could pitch his tent and spend the night. We got his animals unpacked and into our cattle pen, he got his camp set up, and we closed up shop and headed to the house.

The next morning I got up early, the storm had finally passed, but it was dang cold. I saw Bob up and stompin around outside trying to get warm and brought him to the house for some coffee and breakfast. We talked that morning about him, Viet Nam, and life, till it was time to get the bar open. He said he was gonna get the camp packed up but he would come in the bar to say good bye before he headed down the road. By the time he was done a few Knotheads were already there. Bob came in to say howdy and bye, but ya know, them Knotheads wasn't have none of it. It started innocent enough. He said the critters needed some hay and did I have any? One Knothead, Henry, said he did, told Bob to wait just a minute and he'd go bring a bale. Then another Knothead, Mac said well hell you might as well have a beer while you wait. And another Knothead said he'd put on some Johnny and Waylon to pass the time. And so it went, all day long and before you could snap your fingers, it was dark.

Now I knew Bob wasn't goin nowhere, and by then he had become part of a much larger family than he'd left Wasilla with, so I told Wayne to go ask Bob if he would like to stay in the house that night. Have a hot shower, sleep in a real bed and wake up to a warm toilet. But Wayne told me that Bob was a cowboy an he wasn't gonna go for all that luxury, said it might actually offend him.
But I was insistent so Wayne went down the bar to pose the question. Bob got the biggest grin and said, "Hell yah!" You could actually see the smoke comin off his boots as he went out the door.

The next morning I had to go to town for supplies and Bob met me at the truck. He was so nice and gracious and he thanked me so much for all that we'd done and he said he wanted to do something to show his appreciation. He gave me a wad of cash and asked me to by a stack of Ribeyes for dinner. I said I would but only if he'd stay to eat with us, he agreed and a bargain was struck.
Later that night after many a cold Coors Light, Bob said "Robin the only way I'm gonna get out of here is I am gonna have to escape in the cover of darkness." I told him, " Yep! You fell into the black hole of Texas and you gotta claw your way outta here."
Very early the next morning I was gettin coffee ready, the sun was trying hard to come up and I looked out the window at the dawn. And there in a ghostly shadow I saw a sadly beautiful thing: a man, a horse and a pack mule well packed, headin off down my driveway. It filled me with a feeling of melancholy that's hard to understand. In 3 short days we had spent a lifetime together. We had made friends, shared stories, laughed and played. I never forgot Bob Moore and wondered how his ride turned out.
We heard stories for awhile after he left, a Knothead ran into him in Llano, gave him a place to stay, he handed him off to friends a little further up the road. They handed him off to some one they knew, and so it went.
We kept in touch once in awhile mostly at Thanksgiving. He was building a barn in Wasilla, tryin to stay busy. Not wantin to let that old boredom set in again. But after awhile we lost touch.
So this year as Thanksgiving came around I once again thought about Bob. I really wanted to find out what happened to our old friend and drinkin buddy. I guess I just wanted to satisfy my mind if he was alive or what. So I got on this infernal machine a googled Bob Moore, Wasilla Alaska. Since there has been alot of action in Wasilla since we knew Bob, with a certain little soccer mom Govenor, my search brought up tons of stuff about Wasilla. It looked like every newspaper reporter in the world traveled up there to interview locals and get some inside info on her. And in an article published in a newspaper in England I found this mention:

In Wasilla at the Mugshot Saloon, when I went back there this week, the Palin lovers were still there.
"We feel about Sarah Palin the same way you guys feel about the Queen," said Mike Spalding, chewing tobacco. He quit shaving in 1992, and has a grey beard down to his navel.
"She's a rock star," his drinking pal, Bob Moore, chimed in, drawing on a pipe under a ten-gallon hat. "She's the hottest governor on the planet. And we've got her back".

Yep, it was our Bob Moore! I had to go to England to find him, but he is alive and well and most nights he can be found at The Mug Shot Saloon.

Dogs, Whiskey and Texas Tornados

Note: Some of the names have been changed to protect the Brain Dead.

In case you don't know, here's a little bar wisdom I'd like to pass on. If you find yourself in a bar with a big mean drunk, actin like the back end of a horse, an kinda lookin like one too. Well... you can pretty much ignore him. He's just a lotta talk and less action. But... if your ever in a situation where some quite, little guy, gets a sorta glazed look in his eye, RUN, don't walk to the nearest exit.

We had a live band playin one night out here at The Knot and it was slam up packed. All the Usual Suspects were here, and a few of the unusual as well. Our long time Knothead, Kurt, was in attendance and had brought with him a couple friends. Now Kurt is a great guy and we love him dearly and to his defense he's a great friend to have. But he's kinda a "One Way Designated Driver". See, he will load up and bring out any partier who wants a ride, as long as they understand that its probably gonna be a one way trip. The reason being, Kurt likes his liquor and sooner or later, he's gonna come over to me and say, "Uh, Robin I got a little Whiskey in my boot, (usually Fightin Cock) would it be okay if I have a taste." Since we're beer and wine only, and in Texas you can have your bottle, I can't rightly stop him. So we came to an agreement years ago, When the whiskey comes out, the truck stays. The fact that he knows we have extra beds in the house, his motor home in the yard, plus a hammock and Redneck Futon on the deck, makes this contract more attractive.(Except for the bedroom with the dolls in it, they stare at him all night, too creepy.)

So as usual on this night we had the "talk". But just to keep it interestin on his part, he added that he had Joey and Laurie with him and they all wanted to partake. So they agreed if the Whiskey came out, they were all stayin the night. I didn't have a problem with this on face value, long as everybody was aware I don't do breakfast. Guess you could say I run a B&B, Beer an Bed, an check out time is as soon as I get up. I ain't real personable in the morning.

Now Joey is one of those guys you meet in every bar you ever been in. Just a good ole boy from the shallow end of the gene pool. He ain't any bigger than me and he's like an Irish Setter, a little goofy an uncoordinated, but ya love him anyway. So he follows Kurt and Laurie outside and I go back to servin beer.

Some time later Wayne comes in the back door of the bar sayin he needs some help. He was talkin fast, all flustered lookin and a little mad. Somehow Wayne and Joey had both ended up outside at the same time, to water the trees. (The fact that men love to pee outside is a story in itself, and I wonder if some "Head" Doctor has ever studied this phenomena.) Wayne said Joey was standin right there beside him, drinkin a beer, waterin away, and in mid-stream, he just fell over. I don't mean his knees buckled and he crumpled to the ground in a heap. Nope, Wayne said it was the damnedest thing he ever saw, he didn't stagger, he didn't sway, he just fell, Bam, like the tree he'd been waterin. Wayne tried to roust him but all that did was make him mad, an the next thing he knew, Joey crawled under a truck and passed out. To his credit it was a big new Dodge Dually, so as sleepin accommodations go I guess you could say, Joey picked the Radisson of the parkin lot. But the fact that this particular hotel was gonna make its way down the highway later, probably makes it more like a motel. Wayne couldn't get him and Joey had already checked in, or out, dependin on your point of view. So I told Wayne to find Kurt, since he was the one that gave Joey this ride down Whiskey Road. He found him by the dance floor and the two of them went out the door.

The next time I saw Kurt and Wayne they looked like a couple a boys that spent the day 4 wheelin in a swamp fulla gators. They were muddy and dirty, covered in grass an leaves, an scratched from head to toe. They had a look I can only describe as somewhere between bewilderment and pure consternation. Knowin this was probably not the right time to ask for details I gave 'em each a beer an waited for 'em to regain some composure. I finally asked them if they got Joey over to the house. They said they had, but not without a little persuadin. Instead of lettin that sleepin dog lie, they had managed to pull him out from under the truck when all hell broke loose. Seems that Irish Setter musta had a Pit Bull back in the bloodline, an he tore into to them like a windmill in a tornado. He had em' both rollin around on the ground, kickin an bitin, twistin an turnin, and duckin an dodgin. Wayne ain't small an Kurt's a little bigger, but that little man taught both these old dogs a few new tricks. Wayne finally got either plum fed up or plain tuckered out, took off his belt an lassoed Joey's feet. That took some of the fight outta him, an then Joey got sick and that took the rest. Wayne said they half drug, half carried him up to the redneck futon, an left him where he lay. But being the good friends that they are, they covered him up with some Car Hart Coveralls so he wouldn't get too cold.

The next morning when I got up all the Knotheads were still here, kinda millin around, and real hung over. I was just gettin a cup of coffee when I heard the back door open an there stood Joey. He had a big ole sheepish grin, no memories of the fight and believe it or not, he still had that damn beer in his hand.

Drop Kick Me Jesus, Thru The Goal Posts Of Life.

This being Super Sunday it brought to mind another Super Bowl here at the Knot. A few years back there was some folks in town whose house burnt down. We didn't know these folks, but we all knew about the house. Nothin much happens around here, so a burnt down house is big news. No one got hurt, but they lost everything they had and everyone in 3 counties started takin up collections for 'em.

That Super Sunday the weather was great so Wayne had been doin some work outside. The morning had been chilly so he started out in a coat, but as it warmed up the jacket got cast aside to a lawn chair behind the bar. When he came in to watch the game the jacket was forgotten. (Believe me this is important to the story so please keep reading.)

Pretty soon a young man comes in, gets a beer and starts watchin the game. It wasn't real busy so in between plays and other customers I started talkin to him and it turned out he was the man whose house burnt up. Well now this made him some what of a celebrity so we bought him a beer and he told us about the fire. It was a rent house and they didn't have insurance. But folks had been nice and donated money and clothes and he was up our way to get a travel trailer. Some good hearted neighbor was loanin it to him and his family till they could find another house. He didn't seem in any rush to take advantage of this kindness though and to tell the truth he seemed a whole lot more interested in football (his team was losin) and beer. We told him we felt bad for his loss and after some more beers, he left.

A couple days later Wayne asked me if I had seen his coat. Since things get lost around here and find their way back pretty often I wasn't to concerned, but after a few more days and still no coat we were both scratchin our heads and wonderin.

The next day a couple stone masons we know came in for a beer and one of em, Victor, says "Hey Wayne, we hired a new guy at work, "David" and he showed up wearin your coat." The fact that Victor knew Waynes coat may seem odd, but it has real nice Native American designs on it, so its pretty distinctive.

Wayne and I sat right up. Victor had our attention.

He continued, "yeh, man it was your coat and I told him, I know the guy that coat belongs to."

And accordin to Victor, David replied, "Well I was up at this bar in Willow City, and I saw this coat layin outside. I figured some drunk left it, so I took it."

Now Victor's excited and he tells him, "Man that's Waynes coat, thats the guy who owns the bar. Thats the same guy I'm talkin about." He went on to say David kinda shrugged it off and muttered something about bringin it back sometime when he was up this way again and wandered off.

Well alot of back and forth with the masons followed and ultimately we figured out who this sneaky thief was. Yep, it was that same dang guy that everybody was feelin so bad for, and collectin money for, and donatin housing to. But... we also figured out where he parked that donated trailer!

Now by nature I ain't a real mean female, and I don't generaly go lookin to start trouble, but dang nabbit I hate a thief. We ain't talkin a pirate, pillager, or crook (all of which seen a little romantic to me.) No this is just your common, every day, lowlife rat bastard. Wayne probably woulda gave that him the damn coat if he'd just asked.

The next day I went to town to pick Wayne up at a job he was workin for some extra cash and it just so happened this job was real close to the R.V. Park where our coat napper was stayin. It was one of those huge parks and we didn't have a clue what the trailer looked like but Wayne knew his truck so if he was home we mighta been able to find him.

We were talkin about if we should go in and drive around, when Wayne looks over and says "there's that creep now," And sure enough, David was just turnin into the park.
I quick flipped the blinker and crossin 3 lanes of traffic, turned in right behind him. What followed was a low speed chase through the park (15 MPH) that lasted about 20 minutes. And try as he might, he couldn't ditch me. Although I almost rear-ended him at a speed bump. But I stayed right with him till he turned in his parkin space. And thinkin quick I blocked him in, so he couldn't make an escape. Course I did it with Waynes side of our truck, which didn't please Wayne all that much.

David unfolded out of his truck, he was a mite taller than I remembered, and went for something in the back seat. Quick as a whistle I rolled down the window, and leanin across Wayne I pulled out my...finger and I pointed it right at him. And very authoritative like I said, "You," He froze. Then curlin that finger back at me I said, "Come here!" Older ladys like me can do that real well. And younger men like him, seein instant visions of old Aunts and Grandmas, respond like the little boys they still are. I had the draw on him and he knew it. He got a sheepish look, got Wayne's coat off the back seat and draggin his feet all the way, he handed it over. He muttered somethin about bringin it back, gave Wayne a pat on the back, no hard feelins like, and said he'd be out for a beer real soon. He turned to walk away and I said sterner still "David." He turned around slow all red in the face an kickin at the dirt a little. I looked him dead in the eye and said, "Don't you ever come on our property again." He just hung his head and said "Yes Ma'am." See in Texas, even our felons remember their upbringin.

We ain't seen that boy since, but I like to believe that shamin him the way I did mighta made a change in him. I like to think that every time he went to rip somebody else off, he remembered his red face, ears blazen and thought better of it. And maybe this Super Bowl his house is in order, his ways are mended and his team is finally winnin.

Found, Lost, and Redemption

In the real world, things are supposed to progress in a certain order. Found things need to be lost first and redemption is supposed to follow loss. But as so often happens at the Knot in the Loop real world rules rarely apply and Einsteins theories of all things being relative are directly related to how many beers a person might have consumed that day.

One day during a large biker rally in Fredericksburg, a group say 30 or so bikers came roaring into the Knot. They were led by a cute lil' gal with a big wad of cash. Waving the dead presidents around in the air, she spoke the words every bar owner loves to hear, "Get everybody in here a beer." Wayne and I started throwin' beers fast as we could and she paid with a big grin and as all her biker buddies gathered round she told us this story: That morning she had gone to an ATM to get some money. Another Harley couple was already using the machine so she waited her turn. They got done, jumped on the bike and grabbin' gears, thundered off. At this point all her buds gathered closer, it was obvious they had already heard this story and were waitin' for the punch line. She stepped up to an ATM that was beep, beep, beeping itself silly and found $200 still sitting in the "take your money now" slot. That brought hoots and howls and lots of backslappin' from all her compadres, as well as me, Wayne and a few of the locals that were listenin' intently. She said she hung out for awhile to see if they might come back, could've happened, she seemed like the honest type, but no one showed. In any case she ended up with the loot and we ended up with free beer. Everybody was whoopin and high fivin' and havin' a real good time. And just so you know we're not totally without feeling at the Knot we all raised our beers in a toast to our unknown benefactors, whomever they might have been. We told stories about findin' stuff, lucky breaks, and cops that let you go when they shouldn't have, and then they roared off to the next waterin' hole.

A little later another group of Hogs putt in, they order up, ramble around, check out the museum like decor and eventually make their way to the bar. I strike up a chat with the nearest lady to me, who seemed a little down, and as her listless group stared off the walls, she tells us this story: Last night they all partied until the bars closed or they ran outta cash, or both. She woke up hung down, went to an ATM to fund a new round of partyin', and in her "head filled with cobwebs morning", left without the $200 bucks she took out. She was really feelin' bad in a "I must be the dumbest person in the world,and my husband is super pissed at me" way. The fact she was blond wasn't helpin' at all.

Now this put Me, Wayne and the locals in a damn tight spot. Heck we were still burpin' up the bubbles from the free beer we'd had, and one of the locals was still sippin' backwash waitin' for the day to bring another free beer.(He's a kinda cheap fella.) I glanced at Wayne, he looked kinda guilty back at me and right there and then we knew what had to be done. The only way this little blond was gonna feel better was if she knew that at least somebody was enjoyin' her loss. So, we proceeded to tell her about the bikes, the gal, the beers and the fun. She really perked up, especially when we got to the part about drinkin' a toast to her.
By the time we got done tellin' the story, with a whole lot of embellishment thrown in, she was radiant. She was the star of her group, she had a great story to tell, and we bought her a beer to top it off. I think the cheap fella mighta got her one too. So what started out to be a real lousy day for her, ended up being purty dang good, all things being relative.

I think sometimes when you lose something its the not knowin' where it ended up, or who ended with it that makes you nuts. Are they takin care of it, do they love it like you did, is it in a good place, you get the idea.

And if Merriam Webster is right and redemption is: the act, process, or an instance of redeeming, and redeeming is: serving to offset or compensate for a defect, then on that glorious spring day, what happened was nothin' short of devine.

Lions and Tigers and RATS "Oh My"

As the year of the Rat gasps it last breath and slides into the year of the Cow, I have to wonder if this has some meaning. While I admit I have never had any great love for a critter whose tail is longer than its body and I kill with impunity every one I see, still the thought that the rat might be feeling this same loathing for me is a consideration worth considering. I say this because 2008 (the year of that dreaded plague ridden varmit) was the worst year of my life. But now as it slinks away to some hidden alcove lined with shredded tax returns, missing socks and drier lint, and the cow ambles into view, already my good fortune returns.

Wayne and I decided the time had come to sell the MR2. I bought the little bullet right off the show room floor back in 1986. Fully loaded, with a speedometer that tops out at 150 M.P.H. I was stylin' to say the least. But now older and way slower, ( me, not the car) the time had come to let someone else experience the thrill of Hill Country roads in a car smaller than the white tail you were fixin' to hit. But in this time of economic woe it was gonna be hard to find a buyer. We cleaned it, put a "For Sale" sign on it and crossed our fingers. And we kept them crossed. We prayed for a buyer along with our nightly prayer for rain, neither of which found its way to our door.

Finally 2 nights ago after a few beers Wayne said, "Its to bad we don't know how to get ahold of the Toyota lady, she might want to buy it."
My reply " yep, your right but I don't even know that ladies name or where they live." And that pretty much ended the talkin' and the drinkin' commenced.

Now your wondering who in sam hell, ( who is that guy sam and why is hell named after him?)
is the Toyota lady? Well, a couple years ago on a fine spring day a couple folks stopped in the Knot. We could tell as soon as they came in the door they weren't knotheads: way to clean. And they probably weren't even beer drinkers. After awhile in the bar business you get a sense for this. And sure enough the lady of the couple says, "Who owns that MR2 in the parking lot?"
Answering her in the affirmative "pick me" with my hand raised, she let out a squeal of delite. She got all giddy in a strange kinda way, came around the bar, hugged me and insisted I drop what I was doing and follow her outside. Now I have been called outside in bars before by women but usually they weren't smilin' or huggin' me. And when we got outside to my amazement parked right there next to my white '86 MR2, was a white '85 MR2. This obviously meant a whole lot more to her than it did to me and she proceeded to tell me her story of her car, as she directed her husband to take pictures of us, the cars, the bar. She wasn't a drinker but she was high on some Japanese shit that only an MR2 owner can understand. But she was such a nice lady that I guess I ended up getting some kind of contact high and before you knew it I was as giddy as she was. It was one of those "you just had to be there moments" that I can't explain.

Another year passes and its another fine spring day, we are busy with flowerheads, (touristas in mini vans, starin' at cows and bluebonnets) motorcycles, and locals and a lady comes in the bar. Now shes all smilin' like I should know her, and I ain't gettin' nothin' in the way of recognition. She says "Its me, the Toyota lady. We just stopped by to see the car. "
Being in the bar business you get lots of people for lots of reasons. Some stop in to escape the spouse, some to escape the weather, and some because they are well, drunks. But this is the first time ever that I had people who live on the other end of the state come to visit my car. I really didn't know what to say but she seemed so anxious to make sure it was okay , that I took her out back to the carport and shamefully admitted than in the last year it had suffered a minor setback. I had backed into the front fender with the tow hitch of the Dodge truck, and while the prognosis was good, the necessary repairs had not be completed. She looked at me the same way I look at women with unkept children, it was obvious I did not deserve the car and said "But you are gonna get it fixed, right?" Now we all know I had no intension of fixin' that dent but before I could stop the words, out popped, "Yes, of course I am. You know how much we love our cars."
And just like that all was right in her world and poof she was gone.

So 2 days ago here Wayne and I are wishin' like hell we knew who this woman is and how to find her, and all I have is an 8x10 of us and our cars.

Now this is where the rat slinks off and the cow ambles forward and the mysterious east gets so strange I can't right now believe it and yet it happened. The very next morning Wayne walks in the house and says "I sold the car!"

I look at him like he lost his mind and said "What? To who?"

He gets a grin and says "Guess"

Well its way to early for guessin' games and I am somewhat hung over, so I say not real politely " I dont know just tell me."

And he says " THE TOYOTA LADY!"

What followed was a rapid fire conversation of who, what, when, where, how. But the bottom line was this: she woke up that morning thinking about us, and wondering about the dent, and decided if she could find our phone number she was gonna call and check on us. Well the rest is history. She is coming Wednesday to buy the car. I can almost hearing her squeals of happiness. And for those of you not familar with the Chinese calendar the year of the cow which offically begins on Jan24. is considered to be a lucky year for money, reuniting with old friends, and finding your inner self. Also the cow is associated with water, so maybe we will finally get some much needed rain to end this drought. But to me the real amazing thing, well its the same calendar they use in Japan.