LABOR DAY OUTING

          I’ve been complaining that we never go anywhere so John decided to take us on a little road trip today, to see Buchanan Lake, about two hours away. It had been years since he’d been there, but he remembered a cute little restaurant where we could eat, overlooking the lake and rolling hills.

          He didn’t mind that I wanted to sit in the back seat of his Lincoln Town Car because he knows the front seat makes my hip hurt. The back seat is narrower and, to me, more comfortable.  I sat behind him so the sun would not be on me as we headed out toward Fredericksburg.

          I lasted about twenty five minutes before I had to pull out my Kindle and read. I can only take so much of looking out the side window at the same landscape over and over – dry grass, oak trees, dry meadow, dry creek.  At one point he asked if I was okay – I was sniffling at a moving scene in The Patron Saint of Liars.

          We passed through Fredericksburg, where we’d had a noisy dinner at the Brewery Friday night, and headed north.  When I told him I had to pee pretty soon, he said it was about twenty or thirty minutes till the lake.  So I read some more.  We passed a place that said, “Lake landing” but that was on the wrong side of the road, a different lake. The lake we wanted was on the right.  We passed a place that said Hydro-something, but that couldn’t be it.   So on we drove.  We could see the lake, but how to get to it?

          We got off the main highway and took a smaller, though well paved, country road. Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore and asked him to pull over.  I went around to the passenger side, opened the back door and squatted. I didn’t really care if anyone saw me but it gave a little privacy.  Suddenly I felt my pee splashing onto my foot. I looked down and saw that where I thought I was peeing in the dirt, there was an old newspaper and the pee was bouncing off of it. Luckily I was wearing rubber zories. I dried my foot and rinsed the shoe off with some bottled water. I had brought walking sandals, so I got back in the car and put them on.

          We drove around some more until finally we returned to the sad little Chamber of Commerce building. When we’d passed it on the way in I saw one red Explorer out front and said, “Let’s stop. There’s probably a lonely little old lady just waiting to talk to us.”

          This time there was one other car there. We stopped and went in. A middle-aged woman in shorts, who would have been pretty if she didn’t have such crooked teeth, greeted us.  She explained that the Department of Homeland Security “drove us out of there,” after 9/11.  No one could go near the dam!  No wonder the town of Llano, which we’d just passed through, was half boarded up.  Why would anyone come here, if they couldn’t go to the lake? 

          The woman took us out back and showed us the pretty view of the dam. They were hoping to make a nice place for people to picnic, maybe even have some walking trails.  I said that would be nice but privately felt that there was no way this would ever happen.

          We drove to a restaurant she recommended on the outskirts of Burnet (pronounced BUR-net).  They had no beer. John drank water. I drank iced tea. I ordered a half-pound hamburger (the only size they had) and ate half.  John ate a BLT.  I asked the waitress for aluminum foil, instead of Styrofoam to take the rest of the food home, and she obliged.

          I decided to sit in the front seat for a while but within fifteen minutes my right hip was aching. John pulled over to let me get in the back seat, but by now the pain was throbbing. I read some; stared out the window some, liked the town of Marble Falls – it was clean and looked prosperous and the Perdenales River was gorgeous, but once we passed through, every creek we passed over was bone-dry.

          In the distance the sky was shrouded with smoke from one of the many fires burning throughout the state.  We passed Lyndon B. Johnson State Park, and Lady Bird Johnson park, but didn’t stop. By now, being in the car nearly six hours, I just wanted to get home.

          John said, “Next Saturday we can go to. . .” and I had to tell him the truth: I’m no good in a car for more than a few hours, unless we have a destination where we can stop and spend the night – maybe a hotel with a pool. I know I’m a disappointment to him, who loves to hit the open road. For him, all his tension fades away when he leans back and puts his foot on the gas.  But for me I become nine-years old again, sitting in the back seat of our 1959 Mercedes, driving through Europe, bored and homesick.

          Once home I let the dog and cats sniff me. Then I laid on the couch and Audrey laid on my chest/stomach/legs. We dozed. I was in heaven i.e., home.