You can’t beat the happy hour at the Continental Club, especially on a night when Hot Club of Cowtown is playing. Some of you remember when Elana James, with her dog and her fiddle, came to The Towers in Narragansett.
Here’s a photo from Hot Club’s website:
Here’s the photo I took:
My photo skills are practically nonexistent.
Here are a few more Hot Club/Happy Hour fans. I think they invited us to their ranch this weekend.
Boy, do I have a lot to tell you! SXSW hasn’t even started yet and we’ve already has the best night yet, starting at the Continental Club and ending at The Rattle Inn downtown. It involves guitars, song writers and a voice mail from Delbert McLinton.
Really. Delbert.
We had our picture taken to send to him. I’m sure I looked young and thin and very peppy at midnight.
Details and photos tomorrow….
(I’ve been getting up early and spending mornings with my brilliant and handsome grandson, who has decided that having Grandma around is a pretty good deal; meanwhile Grandma has decided that naps are a pretty good deal.)
boots on the ground
plumber in the bathroom
library books in the van
taco* in my belly
*fried avocado with spicy ranch sour cream sauce
If you are wondering where I am, here’s a clue:
Yes, they shape their cheese this way.
This gray-haired grandmother is impressed.
Erika Van Pelt is a local girl. Local, as in just a few miles down the road.
She’s about the same age as my youngest son, Sarge. They would have been in elementary school, junior high and high school together. They would have ridden the same school bus. (I can’t ask Sarge because he is presently in India doing Army stuff.)
I wonder if she was ever at our house. Those years are a blur and I’ve never been good at names.
My daughter thinks they were in gymnastics together. Or was that dance class?
Whatever the connection or non-connection, it’s exciting to have a local gal on American Idol this year. If she makes it to the final three and American Idol films the hometown visits, I’ll be one of those people lining the road and waving a “Go, Erika!!” sign.
I wish I could share the recipe for this vegetable paella. It was really, really good. I’m going to buy the magazine, because so many of the recipes looked so darn delicious. And then I will post the recipe. I’m going to make it this summer, with a skillet full of fresh vegetables from fellow band members’ gardens (because they understand that I don’t like dirt and can’t grow anything).
Harley Chick Karen is a fine cook. She’s always careful to make sure her feathers don’t get in the food.
Seriously, she bought this snazzy headgear while at the Harley rally in Sturgis a few years back. She and Hot Rod Russ rode 5200 miles on their bike that summer. We’re trying to convince them to visit us at the lake.
My oldest son thinks HRR is one of the funniest people he’s ever met. “Steve Martin” funny. Movie star funny. I say “Russ” and my son automatically starts laughing.
Harley Chick is my go-to person for gluten-free, allergy-free cooking advice. We also buy fabric together every year at a Sew Expo. And share a love of country music and cowboy boots and quilts and Keurig coffee makers. We especially love our Keurig coffee makers.
We had fried ice cream for dessert. Have you ever had fried ice cream? It was a first for me. Really good, drizzled with chocolate sauce…and I forgot to take a picture. I was too busy shoveling it in my mouth.
To watch a video on how to make un-fried fried ice cream, click here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hhefwQU_dP4&feature
There is no such thing.
Growing out the gray hair after 33 years of dyeing it ten (twenty? thirty?) different shades of brown is a monumental display of ugly.
And no, I will not post pictures. For which you should thank me.
I was tired of dyeing it. I do it myself. Sometimes it looks okay, but most of the time it doesn’t. This is when cowboy hats come in handy.
My hairdresser, Susie Scissorhands, suggested a gradual lightening through monthly highlights. Pricey, but subtle.
Uh, wrong. I have horizontal white stripes, horizontal gray stripes, horizontal light brown stripes and dark brown tips. There is nothing subtle about my hair color right now. I look like a woman who has given up on life. Or has spent the last ten years in prison.
I’d hoped to look like Helen Mirren, not a bag lady.
Thank God I work at home and never go anywhere except Walmart (where most shoppers look like they’ve given up on life) and the library (where they don’t care what you look like as long as your books are returned on time).
This afternoon Susie is going to have another opportunity to make me look presentable. Forget subtle. I want white highlights and a punk cut with lots of gel and maybe a couple of blue streaks.
What would Helen do?
Why are these women so happy?
A. Someone put tequila in their iced tea.
B. Dementia.
C. They just signed up for Bluegrass Camp.
It’s that time of year when we pull out the road atlas. I have a bad case of “van fever”, too. Happens every spring. I get over it. But you can’t take the hippie out of the baby boomer that easily, and I long to hit the road in style.
I desperately want to stop here for coffee.
I want to stay in this motel.
I want espresso in Eden.
I want to sell my jeans.
I want to eat here.
“I’ll have a huckleberry lemonade and a hot dog, please.”
I want to climb these mountains.
Fourth of July
Glen the Banjo Man
LIVE at the Dump
