Spent Christmas 2015 at my son’s house out from Tacoma in Washington state.
Very family friendly holiday.
Not the thing of drunken stories around the old fireplace.
Very nice doesn’t make for good story telling.
For that you need conflict, danger/risk/angst, then resolution and finally a good ending. You need parts to the story where you talk slowly and parts to say fast. Don’t want any words in there people have to figure out… takes away from the story. You want to spin a yarn where you sort of disappear and in the listener’s mind you create this series of imagined events that leads to some conclusion. Gun shots in the background or some leggy drunk girl passed-out sucking a pacifier helps accessorize the scene… but you got to have conflict being resolved to give it body… to put fire in the engine, you know what I mean? To make a story worth telling.
Well at Joe and Tracie’s… it was just great to be there, like a warm bath of seasonal family love.
Only thing close to a “story” for our 6 day car trip to the Pacific Northwest from Las Vegas and back, is this: The second day out from Las Vegas Brenda and I started out tired. That first day we had fought snow and sleet and a driving rain and mountain passes and 18 wheelers passing in the storm goin’ 60 miles an hour… even worn out like we were we had tried to get from Reno, Nevada to Sacramento, California through the Donner pass… but were turned away by the Nevada Highway patrol who said because of the stormy conditions, we had to have chains to go further… so we retreated back to Reno to find shelter for the night. Driving all the while in a driving snow storm. At night. With monster trucks passing on the left and the right.
But we wanted to get to Tacoma the next day, so like I said we started out tired. Got up close to the California/Oregon line that next mid-morning when we saw a road sign for an Iron Skillet restaurant ahead. We pulled off I-05 and parked near the front door. I was intent on a big breakfast and a lot of hot coffee.
renda as most know had a stroke in 2010 but has come a long, long way back. Whereas the first three years after the stroke she was more or less restricted to a wheel chair, she now motors along just using a cane… but she looks like Tim Conway doing his old man shuffle, making the same speed as a turtle. But she gets there.
Well Brenda preceded me into the bay of the restaurant as I made a pit stop and was shuffling along almost to a booth by the time I came back… via way of the buffet. And noticed they had some powerfully good looking fried chicken there… just all you could eat.
So we’re getting settled in when this nice waitress comes over with some menus and as she was placing one in front of where Brenda was going to be sitting and handing me another, she asked what she could do for us.
No leggy girl off to the side sucking a pacifier, just a good ol’ warm, friendly almost full Iron Skillet restaurant along the side of a busy interstate and a waitress trying to take our order.
I told her that I had come in with a big breakfast in mind – and the waitress immediately open the menu to the breakfast specials and was pointing out that the ham/egg big platter was popular – but she heard me continue what I was saying… that breakfast, yea, but then I saw that southern fried chicken in the buffet – and the waitress said, now get this, she said, “Well then, look a-here, we got the chicken fried steak breakfast. That’s mighty nice. Would you like that?”
OK I’m tried right, and for some reason my brain shut down though my mouth was still working. Without any brain input whatsoever, I looked that lady dead in the eye and my mouth said, “Well, I’ll just have… the fri-ken chicken”… (as in fried-chicken chicken… though my mindless mouth combined Fried and Chicken into one word, Fri-ken.)
Tall, lanky, good looking Brenda, still poking along on her cane had sort of drawn the attention of most in the restaurant as she Tim Conwayed her through their midst, all of a sudden almost fell down she started laughing so hard and loud, and the waitress didn’t know if I was trying to cuss or what – I mean I was still looking earnestly at her and I had spoke with some authority about fri-ken chicken.
She got a clue that she was dealing with some real hum-dingers from my old woman-on-a-cane companion laughing like a hyena… and me mindlessly silent, still looking at her, like what’s the problem with fri-ken chicken? So tired I was just a spectator really.
When the guy in the next booth said,
“I think they got that here.”
He broke up the whole damn restaurant.