It is good to love many things,
for therein lies strength,
and whosoever loves much performs much,
and can accomplish much,
and what is done with love is well done.
– Vincent Van Gogh
Dawn. Take the dogs to the kennel. Bust out of house arrest.
We headed for the first place anybody would think to look – the 60% of the grandchildren who are vaccinated.
About nine hours drive to Charlotte, North Carolina, almost all Interstate.
One stop for gas. Pee and buy chips, if you have to do either.
Stayed at Motel 212 at Southpark. You can see Firebirds Wood Fired Grill from the lobby.
Ask for Hillary. Get the Tenderloin Salad.
Still jazzed by driving like Steve McQueen through South Carolina?
Right across street, the Southern Pecan had just reopened apparently; treated us like we were there to deliver the Grand Prize from Publisher’s Clearinghouse.
I had a Baby Maker beer and learned later the praline cheesecake is excellent for breakfast.
At Motel 212, the extra $0.82 US probably goes to fund the free buffet breakfast.
The search for the perfect turkey sausage continues.
Next morning – early – there’s a “big race” on the other side of the block. I walked over, limping only slightly, I like to think. Stayed to the bitter end. I would have been far from last.
We took the family to Immersive Van Gogh. Vincent’s head would explode if we told him about the ticket price for four adults and two children. Forgot to ask about Senior Discounts.
Was reminded of the midnight shows at the planetarium back in the day. Without the shrooms.
I would’ve stayed a second time around but that seemed likely too much for three teenage boys.
Or my ass. What seating there was did not promote lingering.
Haven’t seen my grandchildren in two-and-a-half-years.
There’s the eldest, The Voice. Doesn’t talk so much as he growls articulately. Keep thinking about that guy on television who scarily warns us to “be advised,” that guy can’t live forever. And he’s got a moustache. My grandson, that is.
There’s the middle son, Blueberry Boy. We bonded at a Lake Norman marina over a large fruit pie when he was about two. Shortly thereafter, he offered to help me improve my online poker game.
Which should have been a clue.
Mid-pandemic, he gets into some sleepaway school where they do math upside down.
The baby of the family is Chicken Tender.
The name is all wrong these days. I am so happy he has expanded his food choices.
He’ll eat pizza now.
Might just call him Sunny. He warms my heart. Just to look at any of them. And their mom.
Or Chip maybe.
He remains unformed and that is a good thing.
The fishermen know that the sea is dangerous and the storm terrible, but they have never found these dangers sufficient reason for remaining ashore.
– Vincent Van Gogh
Easy for him to say, he was crazy, after all.
Or was he?
What else happened?
The Potters’ Market At The Mint. Festival outdoors with live music and booze. Fifteen dollar entry.
Everybody wearing masks.
We purchased – total less than a hundred bucks – three small tiles, a triptych of sorts. We collect ‘canine art.’ A trio of cartoonish dogs will smile goodbye whenever we go outdoors.
Never thought to venture inside the Museum.
A buddy dragged me to a number of breweries.
The number escapes me despite a plethora of receipts.
Got one from The Olde Mecklenburg Brewery for two Bavarian-style pretzels (15.90)
The old man still knows how to please his ladies and no expense will be spared.
He was not used to current big-city prices.
Thirteen dollar beers sticks in my mind. $13, that seems high for a glass of suds.
Before Charlotte…
Trial Trip seemed like the right thing to do after spending eighteen months in the house.
We wanted a two-day jaunt to get used to being gone. And practice getting there. And back. In one piece. So, we went to Cedar Key.
Our usual suite unavailable, we comforted ourselves with the Penthouse.
We bought seventy dollars worth of Chinese take-out in Crystal River and never left the penthouse except for walks around town. You have to be invested in the destination before heading out.
One-hundred-and-nineteen-freakin’-steps from street to the front door. Mainly stairs, it must be noted.
Masked, we poked our heads into a couple of art galleries.
Much good work goes unpurchased in many places.
Someone has suggested I should think about getting a new pair of jeans and I say, I have a new pair of jeans, but I like this pair. But I know what she means, what she’s seeing. When we were kids and we came across some poor gent with jeans like mine, we’d be sad for them.
I know what she means. Our family’s biggest dream, too, was not to have holes in our pants. Now hipsters are paying hundreds and hundreds of dollars to sit courtside with pants just like mine.
The Voice is eighteen now and – first night in town – he explained to me that life in America has always been thus, nothing is really new or different.
I was too tired to argue.
Too happy just to see him.
Wearing my thousand dollar jeans.
and we shall want to live more musically. – Vincent Van Gogh
Charlotte, North Carolina. Felt almost like a real adventure.
Where the aging Rooster Cogburn dodges high speed traffic to get Nana safely through the dystopian backwoods of the American southeast to her family’s front porch.
Think True Grit meets The Walking Dead.
I immersed myself.
https://charlotte-southpark.firebirdsrestaurants.com/
https://www.pottersmarketatthemint.com/
$212.82 for one night
& turkey sausage.
$212.82.
That used to be a month’s rent.
And there was no virus
and sausage was made of pork
and it was tasty.
Just sayin’.
Change happens.