A light breeze blew across the parking lot and birds chirped as I stepped out at the grocery store here at home. The air was thick, humid and the skies were loaded with intermittent dark clouds contrasting the spots of blue and somehow, just for a brief moment, I could believe the birds were now singing, "Keawakapu, Keawakapu." (It would help to have spent some time in or near Kihei, Maui, HI)
Somewhere south of me the same sweet smell like that of the Puunene Sugar Mill on Maui filled the air but instead of the waves crashing on the south shore with Haleakela peaking through the clouds my world was substituted with the busy Airline Highway and Spanish Moss hanging from the Live Oak trees.
It was 27°F and freezing here in south Louisiana this morning and thought I'd ride just for the heck of it. I'm on vacation this week and have few plans so I left Darlene and Devin (grandson) all huddled up under their covers. 27°F on a Harley with 50 mph winds makes the chill factor rather formidable.
Partially as a personal statement to the neighborhood, partially to the guy with the garage queen Harley a few doors down but mostly to give the 12 year old grandson some stories to tell his kids about me when I'm dead and gone, I fired Boudreaux up this morning for a run into town to the do-nut shop and just a few sights along one of the bayous.
I have to admit it was brisk for people like us who do not see a lot of cold weather but it was not overwhelming. It took a while before the tires stopped accentuating every crack in the road and the engine warmed enough that the choke wasn't necessary.
It really was pretty seeing the glistening grass and trees trying to shake off the very heavy frost while the crisp air made the heavy humid sky look like smoke. Egrets along the way were not quick to take flight as I and a few commuters passed and it seemed as if the world was at peace.
It was a nice ride but the family at home was expecting the cinnamon rolls and the folks along the bayous had been sufficiently disturbed.
A while back there was a discussion about top motorcycle and car songs. Someone threw out Born To Be Wild (Steppenwolf), I Feel Good (James Brown) and a few more. Growing up in the 50s & 60s, I got my fill of them all on KNOE AM radio 540 out of Monroe, Louisiana and loved them all. I still love Otis Redding's Sitting On The Dock Of The Bay.
Anyway, back to the tale. The question got me thinking back to 1999, when I had some modicum of success and was completely pumped with excitement I was on my way back into Baton Rouge and had cut through St Gabriel on highway 30. Still excited over a personal victory, I slipped in a disc of oldies but goodies and had Wilson Pickett cranked to the max, singing Mustang Sally. With the windows down, a long straight road ahead of me and the pedal to the metal (I was driving a 4 door Honda), my mind was violently jerked back into reality when I looked up to see an Iberville Parish deputy lighting up my rear view mirrors with the blue light specials. Officer Friendly noted that I was doing 77 in a 55 mph zone.
That experience cost me 125 dollars that I didn't need to spend nor could really afford. So, I guess I can say that success and rock & roll combined can be expensive if you're not careful. Also, I'm ever grateful that my wife didn't give me excessive grief for the experience.
Here it is in mid December with another 3 months to go before we see spring in most places. I can see how people in über urban areas could become depressed and go postal. It seems like the sun rarely shines and day after day, it's traffic congestion in Biblical proportions. Psychiatrists should flourish in these days. It's not even officially winter yet and I'm already wanting springtime.
I'm so ready for a weekend home with lots of family around, eating gumbo, cornbread and potato salad.
Today could be a good day. The frozen scrambled eggs for breakfast in the hotel were almost believable this morning. It's a sign.
I now know where Santa stays when he and Mrs. Clause travel. This morning I had the pleasure of having breakfast in the same room with Santa at the Hampton Inn in Lynnwood, Washington.
You should have heard the conversation between him and the kids as he tried to explain the whereabouts of his reindeer. Fancy footwork (double talk) there, Santa.
I love my holidays and hate missing them but those days are far from relaxing. By the time you scurry to and fro from one set of relatives/in-laws/friends to another, you've exhausted yourself and left yourself feeling guilty that you didn't have enough quality time with each of them.
In my 5 days of holiday rush, I managed to sleep in my own bed twice, put over 500 miles on the car and feel as if I'm worn to a frazzle. I have sleep deprivation, gout and tight pants to show for it.
This morning, I woke at 2:00 AM, drove myself to the New Orleans airport for a 6:15 AM flight and prepared myself for what may be just a short visit to Seattle.
So, even though I'm yearning for more time at home, I'm finding airports, cardboard sandwiches, weak coffee, hotels and rental cars are my best way to fit back into that slot of normalcy. As strange as it may be, waiting in the airport is a relief.
It certainly seems that current events have had a field day with the American lexicon as of late. Since the ballyhoo over airport screening, X-ray machines and the never ending argument over the effectiveness of our security, words like pat-down, touching my junk, etc. are now part of every day language. It seems like that was the topic each time the subject of flyinghome for the holidays came up in recent weeks.
Well, I for one opted for the X-Ray machine in lieu of the pat-down. So when I arrived at the Seattle airport early Wednesday morning, the TSA agents were ready for me and the throngs of passengers boarding up for a long weekend off at far away places. My first encounter was a young slender black woman who took my boarding pass and passport (I think sometimes I present the passport to give the appearance of a sophisticated traveler which I really am not) at the beginning of security screening. She gave me a once over, looked at the boarding pass and stuck a jeweler's loupe in her eye socket and bent down within an inch or so of the passport to find irregularities that might prove me to be some kind of terrorist. Satisfied that I was a legitimate traveler and my not be a threat to society, she handed the papers back and thanked me.
Next came the line where we all began to remove our shotguns, swords, money, chain-saws, shoes and explosives from our pockets along with the ritualistic removing-your-laptop-from-your-briefcase maneuver and deposit them in a Rubbermaid like bin. As we slid the containers that held the afore-mentioned objects along the stainless steel table and rollers , a middle aged woman met me with a toothy grin and inquired as to where I was going on holiday. I went along with it and gushed out like Gomer Pyle that I'd be flying into New Orleans. I viewed that as a pre-screening to (1) find out if I was nervous talking about my destination and (2) to loosen me up for the next part. She played her part and I played mine and we both grinned.
Recently, the news in Seattle seemed to harp on it several times a day about the new X-ray scanning devices that had been installed. As my bags rolled through the X-ray machines, I stepped up to the walk through into the assume-the-position screening machine. After being questioned if I had any remaining objects (or dignity) in my pockets, the TSA guy motioned for me to come all the way in, place my feet on the yellow rectangles about 12 inches apart and to hold my hands above my head with my thumbs and fore fingers of one hand touching the same of the other. I stood there for a second or two and was instructed to turn and face him while he waited a minute or so until the geek had looked at my junk from a remote location. The radio squawked something and I was permitted to collect my junk.....er....belongings in the Rubbermaid bins and move on to the gates.
To some, even in my family, that is a small price to pay for security but I figure there's plenty of ways to create havoc, even with the very expensive technology. I also figure some former politicians and bureaucrats probably have made tons of millions recommending we do all these things. If we get off our politically correct high horse and start profiling like we should, we would be more effective and have a lot more cash left over to do the things that are really important. It isn't 8 year old girls, blue haired Presbyterian ladies or some hip-hop kid with his underwear showing who is trying to kill us. It isn't the frequent flier with enough sky-miles to go around the earth 3 times nor is it the gray haired businessman in the Brooks Brothers suit that's trying to kill us. We just need to wake up and look around. Anyway, enough of my rant about security or the lack of it. I am happy to be home with people I love where we can gather together, eat too much and talk loudly on the day designated as the official Thanksgiving day. I'm happy that we can hug necks, kiss babies and strengthen the bonds that causes us to go through hell and high water just to do this once or twice per year.
Bleh !.........This was another miserable Pacific wet coast weekend. I tried getting out Saturday in search of waterfalls but park after park were closed to cars and I did not feel obsessed enough to walk as much as 3 miles through the woods in the low thirties temperature to be attacked by Sasquatch or a bear. After traveling east on I-90 for about 40 miles, the sun blinked out for a while but didn't last long.
Sunday was even worse. 32° with a mix of rain and snow. I have no idea why anyone would want to live in this mess, especially in the winter. The only people out today seemed to be dog people, running behind them with a plastic bag picking up poop. Even the birds hated it.
It must better in the summer because there's a lot of people here that love it.
I went out in search of Bigfoot today, even though it was rainy-ish. It was the type of wet that you could see falling but not enough to make the puddles splatter.
After online church this morning I drove up into the edge of the Cascades and got out to negotiate slippery rocks, mud and the off and on rain to see God's creation. Not only me but several others too. It sure seems like people up here should be dead of pneumonia as much as they get out in this mess without umbrellas. But, to their credit, they seem for the most part in great physical shape (as a whole).
This place reminds me of the settings for the old movie, Harry and the Hendersons where a family hits a Bigfoot/Sasquatch when returning from a camping trip.
So, here's some pictures of waterfalls I took today. I had to give it up early because part of the cheap tripod I had fell apart and fell into the creek but I did get these and that's a whole 'nother story.
Another weekend in the Pacific wet coast. Since Canada is just a hundred miles north of Lynnwood, WA where I'm staying, I hit the I-5 to check out Vancouver British Columbia, Canada. After what seemed like half of forever getting out of the Seattle metroplex, I eventually began to skirt along the edge of the Cascade mountains, seeing little villages nestled beside small clear lakes and vineyards.
Getting into Canada was a snap. A Canadian border patrol agent of mid east origin asked me if I had any alcohol, tobacco or firearms. He also asked if I had been communicating with anyone over the internet. "No, sir." After adjusting my GPS and rental car settings to metric units, I was then on my way.
It took a little getting used to seeing my speedometer registering 100 and not going all that fast and speed limit signs posting 60 inside neighborhoods but after a while it didn't matter.
I found that the fall colors were still intact but the grass all over the place was still a verdant green. One traditional thing I saw was the logs floating on the Fraser River. It never occurred to me that they still used that method to get them to the sawmills. Downtown Vancouver was a blend of old town and high rise buildings. Just like any other city, there was the usual collection of oddities, bums sleeping on grates and tourists snapping pictures. Vancouver has a thriving Asian population that expands well out of the traditional Chinatown.
Stopping at an ATM, I wondered if I could get Canadian money with my card, but that was a piece of cake. The bank was more than happy to charge me $1.50 for the experience. Incidentally, with the devaluing of the US dollar, the exchange rate is only a cent or two difference. I remember when it was as much as 1:1.75. Not wanting to return with unused foreign cash, I would later remember to spend all my Canadian money with the exception of a couple of quarters and a Loonie.
I listened to Canadian politics on the radio but didn't seem near as heated as our own. The radio also reminded me that long lines back into the US was inevitable and should expect waiting times as much as an hour. Heading east along the river in intermittent rain, I eventually decide to turn back south toward one of the crossings and face the long wait which only turned out to be 45 minutes. I have to say, security on the American side (cameras, electronic sensors, etc.) scrutinizes you a little more than the Canadians.
Even though it is anther country, the appearance and experience might as well have been another city in the state of Washington.
By Charles Riley, staff reporterNovember 4, 2010: 9:09 AM ET
NEW YORK (CNNMoney.com) -- Delta Air Lines says its flight attendants have voted to forego union representation.
Delta (DAL, Fortune 500), the Atlanta-based carrier that two years ago merged with Northwest Airlines, said late Wednesday it has received notification from the National Mediation Board that a majority of its flight attendants voted to reject representation by the Association of Flight Attendants.
***
While I think that was a wise decision, it still does not detract from my observation that Delta Airlines has a less than wonderful record for delays and baggage losses plus the employees can downright surly when it comes to customer service relations, especially in Atlanta.
Yesterday in Memphis, we sat at or near the gate for an hour while some kind of conversation between the pilot, the control tower and Delta management discussed whether or not we could depart. The first explanation said something about refueling but it was a short flight to Baton Rouge and seemed unlikely that they would have not figured that into the schedule. Later, the pilot announced that it involved the plane had to be connected to some kind of electrical unit.
After about 45 minutes, the temperature in the plane had probably risen close to 90° and several passengers had already began steaming and hurling insults at Delta in general and the poor old (yes, old) flight attendant in particular. The guy sitting beside me was wearing a pin stripe suit, a pair of 20 year older style P3 Luxotica tortoise shell glasses and fanning himself. Every few seconds he would give an exasperated sigh and fidget with his cuff-links. He eventually came out of the jacket and began frantically writing on his Blackberry which we were not supposed to be doing with the door on the aircraft closed.
The flustered flight attendant knew no more about why we weren't in the friendly skies than we did but she took the brunt of the insults from the irate seat holders. Even though I do have a pretty low opinion of Delta crew members in general, I truly felt sorry for her. (See Grace The Flight Attendant)
The lady across the row from me yelled, "Open the damned door!" Shortly before a full mutiny ensued, we felt the plane jerk and realize we were being pushed out onto the tarmac and eventually the flight lane. After we were in the air, the cabin temperature cooled as well as the emotions of the paying customers but we still arrived an hour late in Baton Rouge.
A couple of years ago, I was on a Delta flight sitting behind a guy that has spiked hair so extreme that the top of it touched the overhead baggage compartment and made the tallest spike bend over like a broken palm frond.
Finding that amusing, I pulled out my phone (in the airplane mode) and was about to take a picture when the flight attendant loudly proclaimed, "YOU CAN'T USE A CELL PHONE ON DIS AIRPLANE !"
"Yes Ma'am, I understand but this phone is on Airplane Mode", I politely answered.
"I don't care what kind of mode you have but I can plainly see it be a cell phone!"
"Yes Ma'am, it is a cell phone but I have the phone part disabled and using only the camera."
"I don't know nothing about no airplane mode and if you don't cut it off rat now, you gone be in big trouble!"
Realizing you have to pick your battles, I cut it off, muttered under my breath and fumed the remainder of the trip. That's just one of my many battles with the lovely and gracious people with Delta Airlines and can only imagine how much it would have accelerated had they voted to become a union shop.
Here I am in southwest Michigan, just a few miles north of Indiana. It's been somewhat windy since my arrival last weekend in St Joseph but I've enjoyed taking pictures of the Lake Michigan shoreline
St Joseph, MI is right on the shore and has some fantastic opportunities. I went down after work one afternoon and squeezed off a few frames. The wind was blowing steady and hard, carrying sand with it and felt like I was being sandblasted. Moreover, I was concerned about the Nikon.
The Weather Channel had quite a story on it and was broadcasting from Muskegon making it sound as if the entire lake was being blown onshore. It must have been a slow news day for the weather guys.
Saturday, I rode down into Indiana and checked out the Indiana (I never knew they existed) Dunes State and National Parks. I walked quite a bit on various beaches and climbed Mount Baldy, a huge sand dune. The 125 foot"climb" was pretty much a trail in soft sand that would make you pant for breath even if it was level. As it was, it gave me my cardio for the day.
I've spent a couple of winters in Michigan and hopefully, I'll be out of here soon as the temperature has been dropping into the mid thirties at night. A sure sign of colder times to come.
Leaving Seattle Friday, I received a call while at the airport directing me to St Joseph, Michigan and the catch was, I would have to be there Sunday. That meant any long weekend plans were now compressed into Saturday and Sunday morning. That would be seeing children, grandchildren and accomplishing a couple of minor "honey-do" items on the list.
Saturday was the 2010 Gulf Coast Motorcycle Championship Skills competition in Gonzales. There was a lot of great riding from officers all over the south. They were so good, I had the feeling I should just call a tow truck and have mine hauled home never to ride it again. These guys are simply good. There was a small window of time that I took a long ride out of the way to Alligator Bayou to check out a gang of old friends. I'm pretty sure they would have loved for me to join them but the water looked a tad nasty.
What a great weekend. It was nice and cool so even though I had to work Saturday morning, I took advantage of the afternoon and rode up Hwy 101 on the eastern side of the Olympic Peninsula. The road was a winding path along the Puget Sound which inspired several little side trips that presented the beginnings of the change of fall colors. Sunday, I rode back up to Seattle so I could exchange my car to take advantage of a promotion that would yield some more free days on my rental program. Again, the sun was out so that drew out a lot of people making the traffic especially nasty. I fought my way downtown to the Public Market, paid an unbelievable amount to park and got out with my camera and bag to do a little people watching.
One of the first things that got my attention was what seemed to be an inordinate amount of teenage street children. Even though the sun was shining, the temperature was in the mid 50s and a light jacket was needed by most. I walked by three of them huddled up against a wall having a grand old time. One of the boys was shirtless and the cool breeze didn't seem to affect him in the least. You have to wonder what kind of chemicals he had coursing through his veins.
There were lots of people, young and old perusing the sidewalk cafes, small shops and pocket parks. Old panhandling vagrants sat next to couples with children and pets. Entire families seemed to enjoy the sun and bicyclists and scooter riders negotiated the hoards of human traffic. It wouldn't be Seattle if there wasn't at least one group protesting something, this time it was human rights abuses in China. Just wait until the conservatives are back in power and it will turn viral toward them again. Five years ago, I was here and it seemed there was some kind of protest against the administration every few blocks.
After an hour I began to get bored with people watching, so I began to make my way up the very steep incline toward where my car was parked. I'm so out of shape!
I might mention, Mount Rainier is a very prominent part of the landscape here but the climate is so wet, it takes a really bright day to burn off the mist so it becomes visible. Today was one of the best days to see it since I've been up here.
From St Louis, I had to come back to Olympia for another two weeks, so this morning I was out scouting for a good cup of joe, when I saw this woman in her electric wheel chair in the drive through lane at a local coffee shop.
I realize handicapped people have wants and needs like everyone else but just thought the irony of a wheel chair in the drive through was kinda funny being here in the Pacific wet coast where you can stand in the doorway of one Starbucks and see another across the street in some places.
Finishing up in Olympia last week, I enjoyed a long weekend at home using it mostly to catch up on things I had been putting off for months.
Wednesday found me scrambling for plane rides again for an annual conference in St Louis which I partly dread and partly enjoy. What I enjoy is getting together with people I speak with often but only see once a year. The part I do not look forward to is the seemingly endless one hour talks by some department leader who probably would rather be doing something else too.
So, as a certified bean, I have been counted and analyzed by those whose job it is to do so and can be thankful it's over for another year and can go back to doing my job as well as I can.
I had uttered a preference for working west of the Mississippi River so for the second time this month, I find myself flying west. This time to Olympia Washington. My only experience in working Washington was over in the Tri-Cities area of Kennewick, Pasco, and Richland, an intirely different experience politically as well as geographically. While over there, I did have the chance to come to Seattle for the usual tourist traps.
This being a pretty short gig of two weeks, my only chance to really get out was Saturday so I immediately headed to Seattle for another glimpse at the areas I had checked out before. Although I'm headed out in another day, I look forward to the chance of getting back, hopefully in drier weather.
Sunday, I had hoped on riding down to Cannon Beach in Oregon but with it raining most of the day, I didn't want to deal with traffic on wet roads. Instead, I took a walk through the Tumwater Falls park near where I'm staying. Although there was a light rain, people young and old were on the trails. What you do notice here is there are no umbrellas to be seen. Some wear hats and perhaps a hood on their sweater but an umbrella salesman would starve here.
The Falls were modest but nice and scenic. Chinook Salmon made their way upstream where they are trapped and sorted. If the Chinook has an adipose fin still intact, it is permitted to continue upstream. Those without adipose fins were raised in the hatchery here and were clipped before they were released to go downstream and eventually into the pacific. The unfortunate fish I took a picture of (click to enlarge) has no adipose (rear back fin) fin, therefore when she gets to the top, she will be sorted out and gutted for her eggs because she was a hatchery Chinook. All that work going upstream only to be trapped and gutted. Sounds like life in general.
Just an observation and not being political.... BUT...I've never seen so many street corner beggars in my life. While I am given to helping out people in need without question (and I've been taken a few times), a person would put himself in the poor house if you gave a couple of bucks to every street corner bum you come across in this area. They're all over the place, some old, some female, some fat, some skinny, some dressed nicely and some look like real bums. Some have dogs and the occasional ice cooler. While some are truly down on their luck or out there through no fault of their own, to me, it appears that it is a choice to many of them.
Now, since Ive brought up the subject of street beggars, what I don't see.......is black bums, Asian bums or Mexican bums. Go figure.
On my way to the Denver airport from Boulder, Darlene called me as the event were happening. I was able to hear the entire delivery and birth of my 5th grandchild, Davis Andrew Bourgeois. He was born approximately 10:37 a.m. CST, weighing 8 lbs and 11 oz. He was 21½ inches long.
Parents Laurie & Blaise along with big sister, Hadley welcomed him into the world.
Leave it to my friend Mac to find unusual places to eat. A couple of months ago, he suggested Primanti Brothers Restaurant in Pittsburgh which turned out to be one of the biggest disappointments in my culinary experience. Today, he called me, telling me about the Buckhorn Exchange in Denver which has had plenty of reviews anywhere from Trip Advisor to television shows, such as Man Vs Food. Being the skeptic I am, I had my doubts but went along with it as well as another co-worker, Janey.
At 6:30 pm, we all converged on 1000 Osage Avenue, in Denver. Right away, I felt a little nervous for my car and accessories because it was slap in the middle of a Denver's housing projects. It was also across the street from one of the RTD light rail stations where a lot of "pants on the ground" types congregated. Nevertheless, I saw Janey drive up so we both entered the Buckhorn Exchange to wait for Mac's arrival.
Established in 1893, it has been in constant operation since then and has accommodated celebrities and politicians all through the years, including Teddy Roosevelt. It also holds Denver liquor license No. 1 that was issued in 1935. I might add, there hasn't been a lot of updating of the restaurant since then either.
Stuffed animals hang from the walls along with collections of ancient memorabilia such as rifles, pistols, clothing and pictures from days gone by.
Besides beef, the menu included Buffalo, Elk, Rattlesnake, Lamb, Cornish Hens, Quail, duck and the list goes on. Our waitress addressed us in somewhat of a robotic attitude, explaining that the buffalo and elk would best be served medium rare. I eat nothing medium rare except vegetables so I endured the raised eyebrows of our waitress and ordered a combo of elk and buffalo cooked (you know it's never what you order) medium.
Even with my skepticism and the high prices, I did find it a pleasant evening. Counting our blessings for still having 4 tires on our vehicles, we split up to get back to our hotels.
Nothing like a long weekend in some place you've never been before. Co-worker and friend, Janey planned to do a lot of driving and sight-seeing. Both of us, being flatlanders from Texas and Louisiana had already made up our minds, we wanted to check out mountains.
Saturday, we loaded up in Janey's rental and struck out for the Rocky Mountain National Park. Arriving in Estes Park, we grabbed a quick but delicious lunch at Smokin' Dave's Barbeque and entered the park. For reasons I'll never know, Janey took the dirt ATV road up the mountain. There were switchbacks that truly were not designed for long wheelbased Tahoe trucks. After what seemed like forever, we arrived at the top of the park covered in dust. At 13,000 feet, we found breathing to be a major effort when walking.
Along the way, we were treated to sights of elk, turkey and an unending panorama of mountains touching the blue skies.
Fortunately, we found an asphalt road for our return trip that took a third of the time and once again we were breathing thicker air at only 5,000 feet.
On the way home, we began to talk about never been to Aspen and before the day was over, we were making plans for a run over the mountains again the next day. Crashing for a few hours, Janey met me the next morning, heading out on the interstate this time. 3 hours later, we were in Aspen. I'm not sure what we were expecting but Aspen was somewhat of a letdown. We wandered the few streets in town, spent too much money for a questionable hamburger at Bad Billy's and soon found ourselves headed back to the Boulder area.
Even though it wasn't quite what we were expecting, it was a nice and decent trip that we can count in our bucket list.
All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost. ~ J R R Tolkien
Thanks
Hi, I'm C R and thanks for the visit. I travel quite a bit and hopefully, this way, I can give you some photos and tales of my travels without you having to download them all.
Living on the road over 300 days a year absolutely destroys many a road warrior's dietary discipline.
Here's a few things I believe are detrimental to you and avoiding them are helpful in the prevention of packing on the pounds.
1. If your restaurant features some kind of stylized figure or cartoon character as it's logo or spokes person, don't go there, you can gain two pounds just by watching the commercial.
2. If your restaurant has a lighted sign on a pole and colored with yellow, red and blue, don't go there. You're a victim of subliminal advertising. Those colors crank your appetite into high gear.
3. Watch the other patrons. If more than half of them can be can be classified as overweight, fat, obese or morbidly obese, don't go there. You are who you associate with and misery loves company.
4. If your waitress delivers you two plates for you to serve yourself, don't go there. Buffet lines tend to make you want to "get your money's worth".
5. If your restaurant always has a cashier that can't operate the register and has to punch the pictures on the keyboard, don't go there. He or she wouldn't be able to spell cholesterol anyway.
6. If your restaurant asks you not to place the plastic trays in the garbage, don't go there. At least a tip isn't involved.
7. If you can't understand your waiter because the cars behind you drown out the speaker on the sign, don't go there.
8. If you find yourself humming the jingle of your restaurant, don't go there.
9. If you saw the restaurant's logo on the side of a truck and trailer on the interstate, don't go there.
10. If you know the menu by number and "super-size" is part of it, don't go there.
11. Finally, don't order diet beverages. Only fat people drink them.
Good advice, I think. Do I live by these words of caution, oh heck no! I fight the pounds like everybody else but I do believe that obesity is associated with these foods.
at home. The air was thick, humid and the skies were loaded with intermittent dark clouds contrasting the spots of blue and somehow, just for a brief moment, I could believe the birds were now singing, "Keawakapu, Keawakapu." (It would help to have spent some time in or near Kihei, Maui, HI)
Somewhere south of me the same sweet smell like that of the Puunene Sugar Mill on Maui filled the air but instead of the waves crashing on the south shore with Haleakela peaking through the clouds my world was substituted with the busy Airline Highway and Spanish Moss hanging from the Live Oak trees.
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