Will and Nancy, 1983
Hang onto your hats!!!
Nancy’s turning 32 today!!!!
Nancy with Pat Ball, Easter 1981
Hang onto your Easter baskets!
My sweet, funny, energetic, happy little girl is all grown up.
1982
Hang onto your dollies, too.
She’s getting married in 70 days!!!!
Happy Birthday, sweetheart!!!
What an exciting year!!!
Lots of love,
Mom
Grist Mill in Gruene, Texas
goodbye, austin.
goodbye, sweet family and handsome grandson and silly corgi.
goodbye, bachelor writer son.
goodbye, little condo and green door and white van and bumpy sidewalks.
goodbye, Salvation Army store, where I scored Bose speakers.
goodbye, Magnolia Cafe, Lucy’s, Artz, Torchy’s, South Congress Cafe, Whole Foods, Jovitas, Grist Mill, HEB, Opa’s, Jim Mueller’s and Rudy’s.
Menu at Torchy's Tacos
goodbye, Continental Club, Guero’s, Jo’s, Gruene Hall, Saxon Pub, Rattle Inn and everywhere else the music played.
goodbye to Arlo, Marcia Ball, Carolyn Wonderland, Bonnie Bishop, Rosie Flores, Earl Poole Ball, Hot Club of Cowtown, Chuck Deane, Folk Uke, Bobby Whitlock, Bill Kirchen, Warren Hood and my new best friend Gary Nicholson.
Earl Poole Ball at the Saxon
it’s time to get on the plane and head east, but my stomach’s content and my ears are happy and my face smeared with toddler kisses.
goodbye, pond, where my grandson learned to hold my hand oh-so nicely.
goodbye, weird-looking ducks.
watch out for the corgi.
A couple of months ago Son #3 (aka Sarge) told us he was going to India for a few weeks. Today he checked in with his parents and, when asked what he had done there, said there was “something on youtube about it” and he really enjoyed riding on the tanks. But he was there to teach home invasion and demolition (5:33 on the video).
I’ve watched it seven times and can’t identify which soldier is mine.
Sarge is back at Fort Richardson now, but heading to Fort Leavenworth soon for more training. Today he re-enlists for another six years.
Oh, say can you see.
Texans love rain.
I ran through a wet, furious storm for coffee at a gas station in Round Rock and the cashier said, “Great rain, huh?”
He was sincerely pleased.
Three days of storms put smiles on the faces of these drought-ridden Texans, though the SXSW visitors hoped the weather would clear before the outdoor music events began. Which it did.
Rain did not keep us from Artz Ribhouse. To be perfectly honest, I haven’t had great meals here. But Banjo Man and my boys and my daughter-in-law love the giant plates piled high with ribs. If I loved ribs, I’d understand their appreciation of Artz, but I don’t love ribs all that much. But I love Artz because they have lots of live music and any place that lets me listen to live music when I eat is a good place. Music and food. Does it get any better than that?
I know where I am.
I am in a land of boots and beer, and men who two-step and call me “ma’am” or “sweetheart”.
Actually only a couple of men have called me “sweetheart” and they were quite a bit older than me, though spiffy in Western shirts and jeans. I was asked to dance at the local bar (I was sitting alone, listening to Hot Club of Cowtown, because Son #2 had to rush back to the condo for a little while), but I refused. I told him I’d hurt my shoulder. He said, “Sorry, honey, be well,” and moved on to a hot young blond who said yes.
I’m not in the habit of lying, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. He looked like Johnny Gimble, which is a good thing. And everyone dances with everyone at these bars, but…I’ve been married since I was 18 (when the drinking age was 21) and never learned the Fine Arts of Bar Behavior aside from the Playhouse Bar in Clark Fork (another story for another time).
But these Texas men are sweet, with lovely manners and friendly smiles and a kind way about them.
And they know what they want:
Love to you all,
MorePie, who is not going on any job interviews anytime soon
What I ate at the Austin rodeo:
Fried Chicken On A Stick
What I didn’t eat at the Austin rodeo:
Maybe a Pot Roast Sundae would be better for supper and not lunch.
Really, if you’ve ever had a bacon sundae now is the time to confess. Or boast.
I don’t know what a Jumbo Hand Dipped Biker Dog is, but it sounds scary.
I loved the food concessions here. It was so hard to decide what to have: a monster hot dog? Fried oreos? Fried butter? 3-pound burger? The chicken-on-a-stick seemed pretty tame in comparison, but I knew my grandson would share some of it with me.
He also shared the funnel cake.
Bobby Whitlock played at the Saxon last week for the SXSW “Legends of Texas” night. He lives in Austin, and today Austin has declared “Bobby Whitlock Day” with a ceremony at the State House.
Bobby and his band will be rockin’ tonight at the Saxon. I’m tempted to talk Will into going with me to join the party. I will wear ear plugs and pretend to know the songs.
Robert Plant has been known to sit at the bar–he lives in town now, with Patty Griffith. Maybe he’ll be there, not that I’d recognize him.
I missed the whole 70’s rock era. I was having babies and living a life of bread-baking, fire-stoking, baby-nursing and quilt-making with Banjo Man. We had a subscription to the Columbia Record Club and every four weeks a new Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings or John Denver album would arrive at the post office. That was about as exciting as it got.
So…back to Bobby Whitlock. He wrote “Layla” and many other now-classic rock songs. He was in Eric Clapton’s band. His autobiography is a hit. He’s a character with lots of stories. He gives everything he has to every song he performs, which can be a little frightening because he looks exactly like a guy who’s had a wild rock star life and could expire at any minute.
While he was setting up for his 10 PM show last Thursday, he spotted Banjo Man and did a double take. Then he smiled at him.
Then he waved. Banjo Man tentatively waved back. Thought the guy was being friendly, in that “nice to see folks come to see the show” way.
But then he called Banjo Man over to the stage.
Man, you look familiar, man! Do I know you, man?
Banjo Man, chuckling: I don’t think so.
You’re a musician, right?
Banjo Man: Uh, no.
No? You look just like a member of the Whitlock band!
Bobby still didn’t believe Banjo Man wasn’t a former member of his rock band.
I don’t know why not. Banjo Man (circa 1971) looks ready to go on tour. Maybe there’s an electric guitar in that suitcase.
Fourth of July
Glen the Banjo Man
LIVE at the Dump
is there any more pie? 