On the Road: The Centerville Rally

A few months ago Jim bought a pretty little previously-owned Mercedes Benz. It’s a fun car, but I need to fold up like a jackknife to climb in, and I look like a giraffe being born when climbing out. Well, it seems there’s a club for owners of that automobile brand, and the Austin, DFW, Houston and San Antonio branches held their 5th annual rally last weekend in Centerville, Texas. Centerville, a town with 900 plus people and twenty-eight churches, is at the junction of Interstate 45 and Texas Highway 7, halfway between Houston and Dallas.

According to the club’s website, Fort Worth area “BenzNuts” were to rendezvous at 9:30 a.m. at Starbuck’s in Waxahachie, about 30 miles south of Dallas. A half-hour later we were to caravan to Centerville, where we would meet for lunch at Woody’s Smokehouse and then head out to Fort Boggy State Park for the rally.

Jim and I arrived at Starbuck’s right on time. We were surprised that we were the first ones there, and a little nervous when, a half-hour later, we were still the only Mercedes Benz there. We left Waxahachie at ten o’clock sharp and cruised on down to Centerville—apparently the lone ambassadors for all the Fort Worth, Texas BenzNuts.

Centerville is about a hundred miles south of Waxahachie and is one of those “wide spot in the road” kind of towns. There was Woody’s Shell station, Woody’s convenience store and Woody’s Smokehouse. There was a stately old courthouse and a few other businesses in what might be called a downtown, but it doesn’t take much commerce to support a population of less than a thousand people. Woody’s was definitely the gem in their crown and the main attraction of the little burg. Billed as the "Jerky Capital of the World," Woody’s was an oasis in the middle of nowhere.

Inside Woody’s there was a cavernous private room set up for us and a barrier chain with a sign that warned, “Mercedes Benz club members only.” There wasn’t a soul in there. I asked Jim, “Did you actually join this club?” He mumbled something I couldn’t hear, but assured me it was OK to scoot around the barrier. Fearing that we might be the only two to show up for lunch also, we decided to shop a while first and see if anyone else wandered in. I didn’t want to look pathetic—or pretentious—sitting alone at one of a dozen or more picnic tables in a private banquet room.

Woody’s was a supermarket of cookin’ and eatin,’ and it was packed with diners and shoppers. The meat counter held stacks of gorgeous fresh meats, sausages, cheeses and jerky. There was a wall of cold drinks stretching the length of the store and a small bakery area displaying pies and cookies next to the checkout. Here and there were a few souvenir hats and T-shirts, greeting cards and a smattering of collectibles. By far the most interesting area was the sprawling “jarred” section, where it seemed everything that grows in dirt was preserved, jellied, canned, or bottled.

After looking around the store for a while, we noticed four people seated at one of the picnic tables in the Mercedes Benz room, so we strolled over to the lunch line. Woody’s offered standard barbeque cafeteria-style service, but with a salty old guy giving orders as well as taking them. “You gotta tell me if it’s take out; I don’t read minds,” he smilingly growled at a woman in line ahead of me.

Jim and I both ordered the brisket, but he decided to play heartburn roulette and sample the sausage—he lost. The server behind the counter slapped our meat orders on some butcher paper directly on our trays and ordered us to “Take some beans and sauce, ‘cuz their free.” There were little cups of jalapeños and sliced onions to accompany our meat, but I got heartburn just looking at them. The brisket was delicious and possibly the best I’ve ever had. The banquet room eventually filled up with more club members, and the growling meat server brought all of us Woody’s baseball caps and koozies and samples of jerky. I tried the buffalo jerky, and I must say it just tasted like dried beef to me.

Following lunch, we caravanned out to Fort Boggy State Park for the rally. There the Mercedes owners voted for the best cars in four categories, depending on the age of the vehicle. I guess for some Mercedes Benz owners, it’s not enough to just own one. While Jim joined the voting—we didn't win—I found a shady spot at a picnic table and sat down. Everyone we met seemed friendly and sincere, and if it hadn't been 98 degrees outside, we would have called it a real nice day. We left Fort Boggy around 3:30 and set out for Austin and "chicken shit bingo" on Texas Highway 79—a road that could only have been designed by John Deere himself.

Donna

Next: Austin and Number Four on the Bucket List.

Memorial Day 2010

It was at the funeral of my dear Aunt Beth several years ago that I learned of the value of older Americans. Of course, having grown up in the 1950’s and early 1960’s, I was taught to show respect toward my elders. Like many childhood lessons back then, rules didn’t come with explanations—other than the commonly heard “because I said so!”

My dad’s cousin came to Michigan for Aunt Beth’s funeral, and I had an opportunity to chat with him for a little while. He had retired many years earlier, but was busier than ever—volunteering with the American Red Cross. He talked about the importance of volunteering, and his words that day were branded upon my memory: “If it weren’t for retired folks, there wouldn't be enough people to work in all the volunteer organizations. Many of the services we take for granted would be shut down.”

There are many ways and opportunities to volunteer our services; we all know about the Red Cross, Salvation Army, United Way, and other mammoth organizations that have widespread media recognition. But there are countless smaller groups that serve our nation and our fellow humans in quieter, less public ways.

Today is Memorial Day. My morning newspaper ran an Associated Press article, by Helen O’Neill, about a group of women who volunteer at Arlington National Cemetery. Since the 1940’s, these women, representing the Navy, Air Force, Army and Coast Guard, have been making sure that no serviceman or woman is alone when they are buried.

The Arlington Ladies

This small “band of volunteers,” primarily the wives of retired military officers, attend every funeral in Arlington Cemetery. They are there daily, even in scorching summer heat and bitter winter cold, ensuring that every soldier, sailor, airman, marine, or guardsman is remembered and honored. They are the “Arlington Ladies.” As in the history of all volunteer organizations, their founder saw a need and filled it. For an inspiring Memorial Day message, please check out the full story.

On this Memorial Day and everyday, thank you to all those who have given their all for the rest of us. And thanks, also, to those who volunteer their time and energy to serve our military family.

Donna

According to the United States Department of Veterans Affairs, “The Department of Veterans Affairs’ (VA) National Cemetery Administration maintains 131 national cemeteries in 39 states (and Puerto Rico) as well as 33 soldier’s lots and monument sites.”

Mother's Day

Jim and Robert have always taken me out for Mother’s Day. Most years it’s been for brunch and we’ve been to some wonderful places. And most of the time, the brunches have been beautiful buffets with mimosas and champagne, and a rose or carnation for us moms. But these special brunches get very pricey. I thoroughly relish being pampered and spoiled by my guys, but fifty to seventy-five dollars to serve myself seems a little excessive. And besides, I cannot eat fifty to seventy-five dollars worth of food in one sitting—even when you throw in a couple of mimosas.

Jim and Robert are typical guys in that as soon as they finish their last bite of food, they’re ready to throw their napkins on the table and head for the exit. I can forget about long, lingering conversations over another cup of coffee. Oh, they’ll humor me and sit there, but then they might begin playing with the salt and pepper shakers or the straws from their water glasses. This year I suggested they treat me to brunch at home.

After the guys agreed to serve me brunch, I cooked up the idea of inviting my girlfriends, Judy, Gail, Sandy, and Gerry to celebrate Mother’s Day with us. Like me, the girls have all lost their mothers, but the four of them have no family close by. Gerry is Robert’s Godmother, so of course she was invited—we consider her part of our family. I promised to whip up a quiche or something and make it easy for the guys to pull it off.

When Robert and Jim agreed to the expanded brunch idea, I joked, “Would you dress up like butlers?”

Jim’s quick reply was a typical Grumpism: “Don’t press your luck.” Grump was Jim’s military call sign, and he’s still called that by his friends.

Saturday I busied myself doing some prep work for the brunch, and made a ham, mushroom and caramelized onion quiche. I cut up some fresh fruit, cleaned and trimmed some asparagus, and pulled a package of hollandaise sauce mix out of the pantry. I bought a pretty little bouquet of yellow springtime flowers, a couple of packages of mini muffins, and ironed the table linens. I called all the girls and asked each to bring a photo of her mom to place on the sideboard in my dining room.

Jim asked, “Do you think anyone will believe Robert and I did all this?”

“I’m just prepping,” I answered.

When brunch time neared, the guys were nowhere to be found. I had some last minute explanations for them about what I’d prepared and wanted to give them some suggestions for timing things. Yes, I get a little anal when entertaining.

“Where are you guys? I need to talk to you,” I called to an empty room. A few minutes later I started to panic. Knowing Jim, he could have decided to retile the bathroom or go for a thirty-minute run before brunch. I yelled again, “Where are you? You need to be in the kitchen!”

A moment later, I heard Jim call from upstairs, “We’ll be right down.” When they came into the kitchen I doubled over in laughter. They had both dug out their old tuxedo shirts and bow-ties and dressed as waiters. The girls and I loved it! They made and served our mimosas, finished preparing our brunch, and waited on us hand and foot. Of course they ate with us, but after brunch they cleared the table and cleaned up the kitchen.

We girls sat at the table for another hour and talked about our mothers. Afterward Sandy took photos of us with our moms’ pictures. It was great to celebrate Mother’s Day with my family, my friends, and best of all, to celebrate our moms again.

Donna

PS: Thanks to Sandy for the great photos.

On the Road: Cowtown

Last Thursday was Flight Attendant Lunch Bunch day here in the Dallas/Fort Worth metroplex. The Lunch Bunch is the name our “founders” gave us several years ago when a group of retired American Airlines DFW based flight attendants began meeting for lunch every month, in order to stay in touch with each other. Our April luncheon was at the H3 Ranch restaurant, a steakhouse just off the lobby of the Stockyards Hotel (c. 1907) in the Fort Worth Stockyards National Historic District.

As good luck would have it, the restaurant was suggested in the book, 1,000 Places to See in the USA and Canada Before You Die. Perfect! I could get a little “Road Trip” in, catch up with old friends, and have a great lunch. The book, Texas Curiosities, had an interesting story about a Fort Worth museum that sounded fun, and an Internet search revealed the museum offered a senior discount. I talked my brave friend, Gerry Fix, into going to the museum after lunch, and letting me drive. This was to be my Garmin GPS solo—the first time I’d used it without my husband or son supervising. Gerry is “brave” because I’m directionally challenged; even with two maps and a GPS, I still had us lost two, maybe three times in town.

Hell’s Half Acre

The H3 Ranch restaurant was named for the Hunter Brothers, three Scottish immigrants who came to the U.S. in the 1800’s with their parents. These colorful brothers were farmers in Macoupin County, Illinois, until they joined William F. "Buffalo Bill" Cody, hunting and killing bison to feed the railroad workers building the Kansas Pacific Railway. Later, the brothers operated a very successful livestock commission company with officers [sic] in Ft. Worth, East St. Louis and Kansas City. The Ft. Worth operation was located on the site where the Stockyards Hotel stands today. By 1884, their livestock commission company controlled nearly eleven and a half million acres of land and four hundred thousand head of cattle.

The Hunter brothers liked to toss back a refreshing brew or two at the many drinking establishments in the legendary “Hell’s Half Acre,” Fort Worth’s infamous “bar-and-bawdy-house district.” In the late 1800’s, the area, also famous for gambling, brawling, cockfighting, and horse racing, was the first thing the trail drivers saw as they approached the town from the south. Today, The Stockyards are a popular tourist destination where families enjoy staged cattle drives and shop for Western trappings at the numerous tourist traps. It honestly does have a real, Old West feel about it, and it is fun. One can even ride a real live Texas Longhorn steer, (for a small fee).

From Cowboys to Cowgirls

After lunch, it was off to the Fort Worth Cultural District. The Cultural District boasts five world-renowned museums, including the Kimbell, host to some of the world’s greatest collections traveling through the U.S. However, Gerry and I were going to check out the National Cowgirl Museum and Hall of Fame, recommended in both of the above mentioned books.

The Cowgirl Museum, established in 1975, is new to Ft. Worth, having moved here from Hereford, Texas in 1994. Dedicated to the women who worked their ranches, drove their cattle herds, and performed in rodeos and Wild West Shows, the museum also pays tribute to women who demonstrate the Western spirit. Inside the Tex-Deco building, Sandra Day O’Connor, Georgia O’Keefe, Dale Evans, Annie Oakley, and Patsy Cline are just a few of the many women celebrated in art, photographs, and videos.

When you enter the gift shop at the Cowgirl Museum, the first thing you’ll notice is a life-sized replica of a beautiful woman riding a great white horse, as if coming through the ceiling over the cash registers. That’s a re-creation of Mamie Hafley and her horse, Lurlene, diving into a 10-foot pool from a 50-foot platform, the way they did it 640 times in Wild West shows in the early 1900’s. As the story goes, Mamie couldn’t swim, but the horse, Lurlene, loved the stunt.

Back to Grapevine

It was a wonderful day—lunch with friends, and two Texas “Road Trip” items checked off. The truth is, I’ve been to the Fort Worth Stockyards a few times before, though never to the Cowgirl Museum. This time was different. I went with an attitude of exploration and a desire to learn. While checking my resources for this post, I began to realize that the more I learned about Old Fort Worth, the more I wanted to know. I also discovered that descendants of some of the Old West’s worst and meanest characters are actually some of today’s Fort Worth Society. Imagine that! I’m starting to really enjoy this place!

Donna