Let's Dance...

Here we are....stuck inside our own homes with no place to go and nothing of real interest to do. What I would like to do is turn on some George Strait and dance around the kitchen with my favorite wife, Debbie. "Well why don't you?" you ask. As I grow older and the joints are beginning to be rebellious I could blame it on that but you all know it isn't true. I'm not dancing around the kitchen for one reason only.....I can't dance. I can't dance for lots of reasons but the root problem with my not dancing goes back to August 1950 when I was born to Ora Blanche Mihills, also known to me as "Mama".

I've never talked about this to any of my four siblings so I don't know if Mama treated us all the same or if she picked me out of the crowd to harass. We went to, and still do, go to the Church of Christ. I even served as an elder at one point so you know I am a faithful member of the Church. Back in the 50's when I was born and spent my development years, dancing was absolutely forbidden. You think Baptists were tough on dancing but let me tell you, if you so much as tapped your foot to music in the Church you were destined to eternal damnation....according to Mama.

Mama took her faith seriously and I'm grateful for that. Had it not been for her teaching and example there is no telling how I might have turned out. I might have even turned out as a Democrat. The thought gives me chills. Thank you Mama for raising all five of us so well. My only complaint is the dancing issue. I really loved to dance.

In elementary school we had music class every year. We were supposed to develop an appreciation for music. I did. I loved music. I loved the beat of it, the lyrics, the harmony. I loved it all. Now, after a while good old Miss Lardeaux wanted us to learn to use the music we appreciated to dance. I was all up for that and told Mama we were going to start dancing in our next music class. The first thing we were going to learn was square-dancing. I had no idea what that was but was eager to try it out. Mama said I couldn't participate. She told me to tell the teacher dancing was against our religion so I could "sit it out".

The next music class found me sitting in a straight back chair watching the entire class whoop it up while learning to square-dance. I saw nothing in the movements to suggest "square" because they all kept going in big circles, then little circles, and finally couples. Oh my goodness! I wanted to be a part of that so much. When my girlfriend, Judy, got paired up with Frank...Frank of all people, I almost cried. I promised myself I was going to learn to square-dance regardless of the circumstances.

When the next music class came around I lined up with all the others to dance. The teacher told me to sit down because dancing was against my religion. I told her I had been mistaken at first. Dancing was only forbidden in the church building so I was good for the classroom. I'm sorry Mama! Dancing and lying got easier as time went on and I sure enjoyed music class the rest of that school year.

When the next school year came along, we went through the same music appreciation classes and finally got around to the dancing. I jumped up there with everyone to "cut a rug" as any good nerd would say. There was a change though. There was another person sitting it out because it was against her religion. She was Sandy. She lived next door and she went to the same church I attended. I tried to not make eye contact with Sandy as I swung my partner do si do but she was glaring at me the whole time. When the dancing was over Sandy came over and sat down next to me. She whispered these simple little words, "You're going straight to hell". These simple little words brought about the end of my dancing. I didn't want to go to hell. My dancing was over! Sandy didn't think that was enough of a conversion though and told my Mama what I had been doing. I don't even want to tell that story but to say Mama cried. That broke my heart. I would never dance again.

I kept that promise to Mama all through the rest of elementary and junior high school. I wasn't allowed to go to school dances even if I promised I wouldn't dance. I couldn't go to parties because there might be dancing going on. I taught myself to almost play the guitar and couldn't go with my other non-talented buddies to play at parties because there might be dancing going on. Even if I didn't dance but played the same three chords I knew over and over, my music might cause someone else to dance...Mama evidently never listened to my guitar playing. Nobody could dance to my guitar playing...but I digress. High school was next for me and I expected it to be the highlight of my otherwise simple and predictable life. Thankfully high school wasn't the highlight of my life. I would hate to think the apex of my life was over by the time I graduated at seventeen.

It seems like every activity in high school involved dancing. "Hey Mihills, who you gonna take to the sophomore dance?" "Nobody. I can't go because dancing is a sin." "Yo white legs, you taking anyone to the prom?" "I'm not going to the prom. I don't dance." It went on and on like this. I missed out on everything it seemed. In my junior year I fell madly in love with a girl named....well, I'll just call her 'Rose'. I would do just about anything for Rose. The University of Texas at Arlington band invited the LD Bell band to a party for some reason. I was allowed to go to this because it was an official band function and Mama let me go. While standing around holding Rose's hand in my sweaty palm she said she wanted to dance. I told her I didn't know how to dance. She said that was crazy. Everyone knew how to dance. She dragged me out on the dance floor and we started "dancing". I don't know why dancing was a sin because this dancing didn't involve touching the dance partner at all. There was no "swing your partner anywhere". I felt like I was doing an acceptable job of keeping up with Rose despite the knowledge that I would spend eternity in the flaming lake of fire for participating. I felt pretty good about it until I saw myself reflected in a plate glass window nearby. I was so embarrassed I got off that dance floor fast, leaving Rose out there by herself. She broke up with me soon afterward and I eventually got over the hurt. I spent a lot of time asking the Lord to forgive me for dancing even if I couldn't see a thing wrong with it myself.

I was asked to take a girl to the Sadie Hawkins dance one year. If you don't know what that is I'll give a brief explanation. The Sadie Hawkins dance was an annual affair when the girls invited the guys to go out. I had been warned that this girl was going to ask me out by the girl's older sister. She warned me so I would be sure to say "yes".  The girl was very shy and didn't need the embarrassment of being turned down. The hint of personal injury was involved in the older sister's warning. I avoided both sisters as much as I could but finally got cornered in one of the hallways at school. She asked me and I said "no". I said no because I knew I couldn't go to a dance. One mistake had been enough. I have always felt bad I didn't explain my reason to the girl. She probably thought I just didn't want to go out with her.

The years passed and life got a little bit simpler for me. One thing that helped was my promise to Mama I would only date Church of Christ girls. They all seemed to understand about the dancing issue even if they didn't agree with it. I eventually married Debbie. Her dad had been the legal force during her raising. Dancing was absolutely forbidden by him so she and I were a good fit. Dancing never came up in conversation until my cousin, Mike, told us his daughter was going to have dancing at her wedding. Mike had been raised by my Mama's sister so he had similar problems with dancing but he wasn't about to tell his beautiful daughter there would be no dancing allowed. Instead, Mike and his wife, Nancy, along with Debbie and I, took some dance lessons. The instructor (another cousin,  Mary Wayne, not as righteous as us) knew we had no idea how to dance so she was easy on us. We learned how to do a few simple dance steps and had a great time learning. Then the wedding came along. Mike had danced with his daughter and it was beautiful. Everyone was on the dance floor...everyone except Debbie and me. Debbie froze. She just couldn't make herself dance in front of anyone else. She was only comfortable dancing with me in the kitchen. I was disappointed but sat with her until my cousin, Mary Wayne the dance instructor, grabbed me and dragged me out on the dance floor. I never had so much fun. I was at a dance, actually dancing, and had no guilt hanging over me...and then I saw Mama watching. I finished the dance and walked over to the table where Mama was sitting. Before I could confess my sins she said, "I am so glad you and Mike learned to dance. It looks like so much fun I wish I could do it". I offered to teach her and she just laughed. I spent the rest of the evening dancing with anyone who agreed. The only one to turn me down was my cousin Roy Lynn and I was just kidding anyway.

Debbie got tired of dancing in our kitchen after a while. It's not a large kitchen but has a good dance floor. We're talking about having all our carpet ripped up and replaced with hardwood floors in our den. We have both forgotten all the dance moves we learned so as soon as that new floor is down, I'm inviting Mary Wayne over for dinner and dance lessons!

I just remembered this and thought I should add it. When my Dad was in his last days, he and I talked better than we ever had. We talked about family, memories, regrets...it was a wonderful time I will always cherish. In one of those talks he asked my why none of us kids ever danced. I just answered that we never learned how. He said, "I wish you had said something. I was a great dancer growing up. I could have even taught you how to do the polka. I was the 'polka king' growing up". Thank you Mary Wayne for teaching me to dance!!!

Pea Green Gophers....

I've never been much of a "clothes horse" and the idea of fashion has always eluded me. At this age and time of life I don't much care if anything matches or not. In fact, if I make it out of the house with two socks that match I figure I've had a pretty good day.  I wasn't always like this. I used to care....no really, I did care. Money was always so tight growing up though that we never got to shop for the latest fashions. We always got to shop for whatever happened to be on sale at the time. I'm not complaining mind you. I was never arrested for going out in public nekkid...as we say here in Texas, but unless an up to date shirt, jean, or shoe was on sale we weren't going to be getting it. I totally understand that now after raising two boys who grew out of their clothes every twenty-four hours or so, but I sure didn't understand it then.

Another confusing thing about those formative years and the pressure of "being in style" was that the style was based on region. If you drove to another county or state your stylin' outfit or haircut might be totally out of style. It was a conundrum. (I always wanted to use that word but couldn't come up with a way to insert it into a short story.)

Here in the happy kingdom of 1950-early 60's Hurst, Texas we were all pretty much even as far as clothes went. If you were in elementary school you wore a plaid, button-down shirt, tails tucked in until first recess, Sears Roebuck "Foremost" jeans with padded knees, and whatever black or white tennis shoes happened to be on the shelf. The hair style was "little boy haircut" at the start of the school year, neatly combed...again, until first recess. When spring approached we would all slowly transition into a flat-top or crew-cut. If your dad had a military background you generally got the crew-cut. Although my dad was a veteran of two wars he let Glenn and me get flat-tops. I don't know why. I don't even know why we were so insistent on flat-tops over crew-cuts. Dorky is dorky. Anyway, our first spring time flat-top was an interesting thing to see. Really, really white skin bordered the hairline all the way around the head. After a few weeks in the sun that problem disappeared but as any stylin' boy back then knew, if you're gonna have a flat-top you have to gob it down with Butch Wax. Butch Wax helped maintain that flat head look we all wanted so badly. Without Butch Wax your hair just looked like a crew-cut in need of cutting. As spring turned into summer the Butch Wax would begin to melt on our heads and run down our necks and into our eyes. It was a wonderful road to manhood.

My world was rocked during the sixth grade. Fashions began to tweak and all of a sudden Foremost jeans were not the thing to wear. Levi's took the lead in boys fashion. Another change was in footwear. Plain old tennis shoes were slowly being pushed aside for something called "Hush Puppies". I kid you not. My family didn't get the memo about the fashion adjustments before our annual shopping for school clothes. We picked out our Foremost jeans and black tennis shoes in good faith. Our hair was mostly grown out for the start of school and we walked in fully confident we would match everyone else. Being young and stupid can be a nice thing. We didn't realize we didn't match the trendsetters until it was brought to our attention by caring friends. "Hey! Look at the loser in the Foremost jeans!" "Where'd you pick up those PF Flyers dude?" Midways through the school year I was ready to ask for new clothes for Christmas. I didn't of course because I was still immature enough to know that it was no fun unwrapping clothes for Christmas. However, I did get a break after Christmas. We were planning our move to New Mexico which included packing our clothes. My mom mentioned to my dad that my tennis shoes were getting too small for me and all my jeans were too short, like I was preparing to wade in high water. He was making trips to and from Roswell on a regular basis and didn't have much time for those details. He told her to go ahead and get me a new pair of shoes but the jeans would have to do til summer. I told my mom I didn't want anymore tennis shoes. I wanted Hush Puppies. She looked at me like she didn't know who I was and said I would just have to wait "til your Daddy gets back from Roswell!"

When he came back from his trip she told him of my rebelliousness. She insisted he use some of his precious few hours at home to take me shopping. I figured I was a dead man walking but he took it pretty good. As we shopped I mentioned my blue jean malady and he listened. We looked at Levi's until he saw how much more they cost over the Sears brand. If I wanted Levi's I would have to buy them myself. Not much chance of that happening with my quarter a week allowance so I said I would just keep the "high waters" I already had. We got to the shoe department and I told him I wanted to wear Hush Puppies like everyone else. Again, he listened and actually walked over to the display. When he saw the prices he almost stroked out. The clerk told him Sears had come up with a close substitute for Hush Puppies at a fraction of the price. He then showed us the Sears "Gophers". Now I have to say it was really hard to tell the difference between the two brands so I didn't balk when the clerk started to measure my foot. Evidently I wore a size that was so odd Sears didn't want to bother with it, or everyone on the planet wore the same exact size and Sears couldn't keep enough of them in stock. Either way, it looked like they wouldn't be able to fit me in the Gophers. I had almost convinced my dad to reconsider the Hush Puppies when the clerk came running from the back with one more pair of Gophers he had found. Low and behold they were a perfect fit. That is absolutely all that was perfect about those shoes though. They were lace up instead of slip on. They weren't the stylish grey or tan sold by the better brand. Oh no no no, these were a color introduced by Sears for their Gopher brand.....pea green. Not olive green or dark green.....pea green. My dad said, "We'll take them!" I did not want to go back to school....ever...

I kept my old tennis shoes around by cutting the toes out. They weren't too uncomfortable then and nobody seemed to notice my modification. As spring neared and our move was imminent my dad called my mom and told her to go ahead and get Glenn and me sheared for the summer. He had noticed haircuts were a lot more expensive in Roswell so he wanted to avoid that extra cost. Glenn and I didn't mind. In fact, we were pretty proud to be sporting our shiny new heads before anyone else that spring.

Our move to Roswell was exciting as I've mentioned many times before but the first day at our new school was traumatic for me. First of all, when I walked into the classroom for the first time the teacher thought it would be nice to introduce me so she kept me up front with her arm around me and told everyone to give me a big welcome. The response was more of a muffled mumble than a greeting but I didn't hear it anyway. I was shocked to see that no one, absolutely no one had a flat-top or crew-cut. My white hairline began to glow red and I got so hot my Butch Wax started melting down my neck and face. Also, not one guy in the room was wearing a plaid button down short sleeved shirt. The room was filled with baseball jerseys, nice sweaters, or long sleeved solids with the arms rolled up and the tails hanging out. My thought was "Get me to a desk in the back right now so I can be invisible. That didn't happen. My new teacher told me there were no more desks available and I would have to sit at her desk for a couple of days until a student desk could be transferred in. So, there I sat staring at a room full of strangers. My new flat-top glowed, my high waters showed everyone how white my legs were above my probably mismatched socks, and then of course there were my pea green Gophers. My first day of school in Roswell was not a good day....not a good day indeed.

I made friends of course and eventually loved living in Roswell. Something strange happened during our short stay though. My feet didn't grow at all. Those pea green Gophers were a bane to my confidence the whole time we lived out there and then I had to wear them back to Texas to experience junior high as a new student...wearing worn out Gophers from Sears.

So, How Ya Doin?

Personally, I'm about to go crazy in this house. My son the doctor thinks Debbie and I are old and in need of protection against this pandemic attacking our world. I am not old. I may be a "senior" or maybe even among the "elderly", but I am not old. Old is what you are when you need occasional help getting out of a chair or you consistently groan every time you stand up. Old is when you can't work in your yard without having to sit down and rest every five minutes. Old is when people who appear to be old hold the door open for you and call you "sir". Old is when neighbors panic when they see you on top of your house cleaning out the gutters. Old is when you really need to stay close to a bathroom. Why would anyone think I'm old??

To make matters worse, we're having the wettest March I can remember. Our yard, so desperately in need of spring cleanup, is a sodden mess too squishy to enjoy. So now I can't work in the yard. I can't  go to the gym because I was banned from it (see 'my son the doctor' above) before it was officially closed by the city. I can't even go to church because its been closed down for the duration. I am about to go crazy in this house. I thought about asking if my old pals Don and Charley wanted to hit the corner cafe for breakfast but no-o-o-o...no gatherings of more than ten people. I know Don, Charley, and I are only three but if you count the waitress, the cook, the busboy, and the occasional customer, you're going to have yourself a gathering of more than ten real quick. Plus, people tend to gravitate toward the three of us because we're so cool.

Oh sure, there are plenty of things I can do around here without venturing out into the cold, dark world. I just need to get motivated. I have eleven novels waiting for me to read. I could possibly dust my study.....nah! I could build the stove top cover Debbie has been asking for ever since our neighbor, Brent, built one for his wife. He is a troublemaker. I could finish a short story I started two months ago. I could play my banjo (no I can't) or my blues harmonica. However, Debbie's patience is not real strong right now so I tend to stay as quiet as possible.

This pandemic is a terrible thing. I did think we were over-reacting like Texans do every time a light dusting of snow falls on the roads. Now I believe the CDC is giving good recommendations to halt this thing before too many people are affected. If there is a silver lining to this tragedy it's this: The word "caremongering" has been introduced. People are beginning to think of others for a change. There is concern for our neighbors. Calls are being made to shut-ins. Simple acts of kindness are being noticed more than ever before. Here's an example. Our little town of Hurst is completely without toilet paper....well, I should say our residents are hoarding toilet paper and none is available at any of the stores. A young man named Brad, who does small jobs for us, called the other night. He had to make a quick trip to Kansas and while there he found toilet paper on the shelves! He brought us a large box to see us through the siege.

Debbie and I are concerned for our son Cody and his staff. They have officially been exposed to the virus through patients who have tested positive. Healthcare professionals around the world are facing exposure every day. Those in emergency care are especially at risk. Please keep all these professionals....and their families in your thoughts and prayers. Any of these could bring the virus home with them and expose.....oh, I don't know, maybe old people.

Box of chocolate....

Well.....here I am, back in my study after a long absence. Two things are obvious to me after being gone so long. First of all, our housekeeper didn't think it was necessary to keep my desk dusted while I was gone. Secondly, we really need to get a housekeeper. This whole room could use a good dusting.

Where have I been you ask? I have been nowhere. I've been wallowing in a grand funk for a couple of months now. I haven't had a funny memory....or any memory for a long time now. I am afraid if I keep writing these little one page stories I might possibly have to make something up. I'll put it off for as long as I can and I will give you some notice if I decide to write a few paragraphs of fiction. My cousins tell me nearly all my memories are fiction but that's just not true. I always tell them "Mea memoriae non vestra memoriae, ergo tace". For the non-educated among us, that's Latin for "My memories aren't your memories, so shut up". It does sound better in Latin, doesn't it?

I was following a group text between my siblings this morning. We tend to have our reunions in the form of text messages. Everyone was wishing everyone a Happy Valentine's Day. I wasn't too keen on this since I have never given Debbie a bouquet of flowers or a Valentine's card in all the forty-nine years we've been married so, I feel a bit guilty for giving the wishes to someone else....especially my brother of all things. I finally posted a heart emoji to keep from being rude. Eventually the conversation turned to memories. I love this part of of the group texting, especially now that I can't remember anything. I can't give credit to any of the sisters or brother for any of these memories because my phone crashed a week ago and I haven't entered new contacts. All I can say is phone number dah dah dah #1 remembered the little boxes of chocolate our daddy always had for us on Valentine's Day. Phone numbers dah dah dah #'s 2, 3, and 4 all commented on the memory and everyone felt nostalgic for a moment. Then phone number dah dah dah # 3 asked if we remembered the dollar bill we always got in a birthday card from our Grandma Mihills in South Dakota. That sure brought back some good memories. It was a great day to get Grandma's card because it boosted our monthly income by double! Not only could we buy a quarter's worth of penny candy every week of the month but we could now include any toy M.E.Moses five and dime stocked for a dollar or less. Good times! Oh sure you laugh, but those are golden memories and I wouldn't trade for them.

This memory reminded me of our weekly allowance. I don't know how much the three younger kids got for allowance but Cindy and I, as the oldest, got twenty-five cents a week. Sometime in 1962 daddy approached Cindy and I with a great deal. Instead of giving us the quarter every week, if we wanted and only if we wanted, he would stop this weekly practice and give us a dollar a month. We both agreed heartily and danced the happy dance. It took us about six months to figure out we were getting shorted a dollar a year with this setup. I may have mentioned before we weren't necessarily the brightest bulbs on the Christmas tree.

Speaking of Christmas, every Christmas morning was a total blowout with gifts stacked to the ceiling...and I'm not making that up. Daddy loved all the holidays but Christmas was his favorite. Mama and daddy would start moaning the financial blues right after Thanksgiving every year and every year we expected a pair of socks under the tree...if we were lucky. Christmas morning would then absolutely blow us away.  We never seemed to catch on to this skullduggery and always fell into deep depressions before the actual day. Daddy really knew how to enjoy Christmas! I can't believe mama went along with it unless he fooled her too.

Easter was another good holiday. Every spring included a trip to Sears or "MonkeyWards" (that's Montgomery Wards for those not accustomed to our family language). We got new dress clothes, shoes, socks, and for some reason underwear. Debbie Sue was probably the only one to show off her new underwear at the "Easter Parade". We did look good on Easter Sunday and we had Easter baskets loaded down with candy, eggs, and a couple of nice presents. As Cindy and I got too old and figured out the Easter bunny was actually daddy, he stopped giving us baskets. That was wonderful because he substituted really nice gifts in place of the baskets. I remember one year we each got a brand new Arvin AM radio. Mine was mint green bakelite and Cindy's was pink. Oh the joy! We could now listen to the top forty in the privacy of our own rooms.

The top forty......now that's a memory I had forgotten. I'm gonna write that down for a later story.

First Love...

We met at the start of a new school year. She sat down next to me and smiled. I turned red in the face and got nervous. Pretty girls always did that to me. We became friends right away and before too many weeks had passed I overheard her announce to a classmate that I was her boyfriend. Wow! I wasn't expecting that but after the initial shock I liked the idea.

As the weeks went on we grew closer and closer. We did everything together and hated for each day to come to an end. Our individual studies kept us apart more than we liked but we tried to make up for it when we had a break.

Fall came and the leaves fell. I expected things to end as most first loves do but by Christmas I was still madly in love and I think she was too. We were too young to know how to express this love so we contented ourselves with simple acts of kindness and longing looks.

During the spring semester we planned our June wedding. She wanted white horses pulling a white carriage loaded down with red roses. An odd wish in my opinion but I was fine with it. Actually, all the planning was done by her while I concentrated on making better grades than I ever had before....I was going to support a wife so I needed to get smart in a hurry. I figured if I didn't get enough education in time I would humble myself and ask her dad for a job on his ranch. I was pretty good with horses so I figured he would take me on.

Before the spring semester ended we knew we had to announce our plans to our parents. Their blessing was critical to a happy marriage. She promised to talk to her folks over the coming weekend and made me promise to do the same. I promised but I was a wreck thinking about how it would go. As expected, my Mom was not amused. She said I was crazy to even think of such a thing. Her response convinced me that telling my Dad would be a big mistake. When the following Monday came she asked how it had gone for me. I told her it wasn't good and asked about her parents reaction. She said her parents actually laughed at her. I was offended for her and worried what the future held.

Before school let out for the summer break she told me we were going to have to break up. With a huge lump in my throat I asked her why. She said her mother had convinced her we were too young. We needed to take our time and see other people. I was hurt but I tried to not show it. Later in the day I asked if she still felt the same way about things. She told me she did and insisted she knew better than I because, after all, she was older than me. I couldn't argue with that. She was seven and I was six.

Thanksgiving in New York, Final Chapter

I decided I shouldn't burden you all with a day to day of our trip so I'll wrap it up today. Before I start let me say this: I love New York...the city and the state. Upstate New York is some of the most beautiful real estate I've ever seen and all the people living there and in the city, I guess we should call them natives, have always been so friendly and helpful. When I was young and would watch movies about crimes in New York I wondered why anyone would choose to stay in that horrible place. Why didn't they just all pack up and move to Texas where it was safe. Little did I know that a good percentage of them would do just that starting in the mid 70's and continuing today.

I had to make a business trip to Albany, NY when I was in my 20's. It was my first business trip and I was a nervous wreck. On top of it all I was worried that I would surely be mugged at the least and probably killed before I ever got to go home. I made my supervisor promise me that I did not have to go through the airport in the city to get to my destination. I was blown away with the laid back attitude of the people in upper New York. They were so friendly I had to call home just to tell Debbie about it. I fell in love with upstate New York on that trip but still had some serious misgivings about going to the city itself. I didn't make that trip until I was in my early 60's. I discovered I loved New York City and promised myself I would make the trip a regular part of my travels. My opinion didn't change with this last trip up there. Even though I've made some questionable remarks about New Yorkers....and will really lay it on heavy in this story, I have to say they are wonderful people and visiting the city is a joy. Okay, let's get on with the business at hand....

Day three of our stay began with a brisk walk down the block to the Warwick Hotel. Cody and Cayce had made reservations for a suite where we could watch the Thanksgiving Day Parade from a heated and very comfortable environment. There would be snacks and comfortable seating...sounded great. When we arrived the hotel lobby was very busy and quite crowded. We made our way to the back of a line leading into a reserved area. This is where we met the "select party only nazi". He took Cody's paperwork and looked it over for several minutes before shaking his head negatively and telling Cody he "did not have the proper credentials". We would have to go somewhere else to watch the parade and I don't think I'm making it up when he referred to us needing to sit with the common people. I know he did say his room was for a select party only. Cody showed the man his reservations again and insisted he had paid for a suite to watch the parade. Nazi man shook his head again and told Cody to "go away and, oh yeah, have a happy Thanksgiving". I have seen Cody get really mad before but it's been a long, long time. He took his paperwork to the front desk and had a talk with one of the hotel managers. A few minutes later we were escorted to our suite. We passed right by Nazi man but we didn't make eye contact for fear we might say or do something to lower New York opinions of Texans. The suite was shared by several other families but it was really fancy. We felt like we had been escorted into a fancy restaurant just for us and a few other "select parties".

The room was a corner suite on the second floor with windows all around. The parade would pass right under us and the floats would be eye level. The "snacks" consisted of a full buffet serving finger foods, a complete breakfast offering, desserts of every imaginable make and a full Thanksgiving dinner with turkey, ham, pork chops, and all the trimming. So much food, so little time. Oh, and there was an open bar for those wishing to imbibe. Several parade watchers did so wish. Our hostess was a bubbly young woman who appeared to be having as much fun as we were having....and she was pretty. Don't tell Debbie I said that. Cody and Cayce took their kids outside to watch the parade for a few minutes at a time. I forgot to mention how cold it had turned overnight. Most of us were content to sit and watch, and eat, and watch, and eat some more with possibly a light beverage just to be polite.

It was a wonderful experience for everyone but especially for the kids. It was a joy watching them watch the balloons float past right in front of them. After the parade was over we all hit the buffet line again to enjoy out Thanksgiving dinner. What a day! Thank you Cody and Cayce.

The remainder of the day was relaxing. The women, except for Debbie who hates to shop, disappeared to all the fancy stores at their disposal. Cody, Andy, Debbie, and I took a carriage ride through Central Park. It was freezing but the park was still full of strollers, flag football players, and frizbee tossers who were having a great time. Our carriage driver gave us a huge blanket to cover up with so the ride was real enjoyable. We all met at the hotel and walked to a small deli where we had an early dinner before attending the Rockettes' Christmas Show at Radio City Music Hall. This was one of my bucket list items so I was glad to have a chance to experience it. The only other bucket item I covered was having a Nathan's hot dog in Central Park. I'm a simple guy and Andy was kind enough to experience it with me...as long as I paid. We caught Uber rides back to the hotel after the show ending another perfect day.

I could go on and on with little incidentals about the trip but I'm afraid I would begin to bore even the most enthusiastic reader. Our trip home was a bit chaotic. Charlee had trouble with her ears again and told everyone on the plane that her tummy hurt during the last hour of the flight. All in all, the little girls handled the trip very well....and when they got a little tired and testy they were just too cute to stay mad at for very long. Carter was as close to an angel as a human can get. He is so laid back and easy going. He either inherited this trait from his uncle Kent....or possibly me. I doubt it was me though. I didn't become laid back until a year after I retired! Andy assumed the role of guardian angel to me and his mammy. We didn't take a step that he wasn't right there helping us and making sure that we weren't going to fall! Cody and Cayce have a beautiful family and the Garrison's are a joy to travel with...even Allie who is directional savvy don't ya know!

Thank you for reading. I'll try to keep my stories down to one at a time from now on.

Thanksgiving in New York, Part 2

If you will remember yesterday's episode where self-proclaimed "Ace Tour Guide" Allie got us lost on our way to dinner, you will know how important it would be for us to search out and hire the world's foremost New York Tour Guide. To keep the possibly of lawsuit at a minimum we will just call him Tour Guide From Hell, or TGFH.

TGFH was a native New Yorker who hailed from Queens. He was proud of his status and described it to us ad nauseam. He was hired to lead us to the Balloon Inflation Festival at Central Park. We were all excited to get a professional tour and the little kids were excited to see the parade balloons up close and personal.

TGFH knew his city and its history well and entertained us with important facts along the way to the park. We saw who lived in that apartment building and this apartment building. It was a cornucopia of celebrities living right in the neighborhood where we wandered. We saw where Madonna had her very first job as a.....something. I can't seem to remember now but it was impressive in its obscurity. We saw where John Lennon was killed, "RIGHT HERE IN THIS SPOT WHERE I'M STANDING!! RIGHT HERE!" We learned who killed Mr. Lennon and believe it or not, we also learned exactly why! TGFH was there in the neighborhood when it happened....really...

TGFH knew everything about his city except how to get us to the Balloon Inflation Festival at Central Park. The following was not his fault but we chose to blame him anyway. Thinking that we wouldn't have a huge crowd attending the festival because tickets had to be bought in advance, we strolled along behind TGFH for awhile oblivious to the steadily increasing number of park seekers. Before too long our guide stopped us and yelled for us to follow his green and black umbrella if we got separated. It was then that we realized we were part of a million man march on Central Park. The crowd was massive and working with a herd mentality. We were slowly going down one block with barricades guiding us along. There was no option of getting out of our situation because the streets were lined with New York's finest making sure we all kept moving. After a longer than I would have preferred amount of time, Cody told our guide to give it up. We didn't need to stay in this crowd. We would forget the balloon festival. TGFH informed us we couldn't leave because he had already asked a policeman and told we could not exit. He evidently read Cody's face clearly because he immediately started working us through the crowd to the edge next to the barricade. Once there he asked again if we could exit. The policeman said no. He then walked away to another barricade emergency and TGFH removed the barricade and told us to hurry through. Instead of stopping us though, he informed us of a shortcut we could take. Like the rest of the herd, we mindlessly followed him up a sidewalk until we ran into another crowd. As we blended into this crowd Charlee disappeared. In seconds we were running through the crowd screaming her name. Before we found her someone yelled that Claire had disappeared too. This was a nightmare in the making but Charlee was quickly found and a really nice family came up holding Claire's hand. Both girls were crying their little eyes out and hugging their mommy and daddy as tight as they could.

TGFH didn't seem too phased by the exercise and started us off again. In a few minutes we realized more people were headed in a direction opposite from ours. When we stopped one of them and asked we discovered TGFH, native New Yorker and Ace tour guide, was leading us away from the park. Cody fired him on the spot and he wandered off into the night. He may still be lost.

You may ask how any event could be worse. Well, I'll tell you...when we were in the worst of the crowd it began to rain....hard. TGFH was the only one with an umbrella. But to end things on a positive note we wandered around town for a while and found an awesome hole-in-the-wall pizza place. We stuffed ourselves on New York decadence then found our way back to the hotel.

Tomorrow I will tell you about the "select party only nazi" we encountered on day 3.