Spinning Straw...

Still here, trying to spin straw into gold. We'll see.

I apologize for not checking in much this week. Being on the road has its thrills and its aggravations.... namely no internet, which I've found to be both freeing and frustrating. But here I am and there you are. We're still here. Hello.

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Last night I got checked into a little B&B known as the Perry House. It's in the middle of nowhere. It was recommended by a friend of the family whom I was supposed to meet for dinner Tuesday night. "Meet me at the steakhouse north of town off Pancake Boulevard," he said.

"Pancake Boulevard?" I asked, spelling p-a-n-c-a-k-e.

"Yup," he said. A pause. Then, "they have annual pancake parades up here, you know, and toss pancakes and roll their children up in giant pancakes."

Huh?

Some people jump from planes. Other people run with the bulls. We, my friends, get in pancake-flinging contests with people from Kansas, the "oz-some" land of the pancake.

I found the "steakhouse" off Pancake Boulevard. It was a hole. I pushed the jingle bell-laden door open and walked into a wall of smoke. I was the only woman in there, and definitely the only person under 40-ish. I walked to the front and sat at the bar and told the waitress I was waiting on someone. A man with dirty fingernails slid into the chair beside me.

"What are you doing over this way?" was the first question out of his mouth. I'm in the oil business, I told him, and politely asked what he did. "I'm in the farming business," he replied, and, without taking his eyes off me, asked: "Can I buy you a glass of milk?"

A glass of milk? What am I, five?

Just then the waitress, from somewhere behind a greasy wall, hollered, " *$#(@, Brown! Leave her alone!"

Wow. I'm in a dive off Pancake Boulevard where Farmer Brown is offering to buy me shots of milk. Crap. I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.

I left. I wasn't rude about it, but I left. I was glad to get to the Perry House.

Only it's not a real B&B. It's clean and I feel as safe as a girl can a bajillion miles from home, but it's no B&B. I have yet to meet the owners, my room has only a bed and two dressers - no chair, lamp, nightstand... nothing. I was trying to get settled when the guy staying in Room 3 knocked on the door and introduced himself. As soon as he said his name I forgot it. Tired, I guess.

He knocked on the door a few more times throughout the evening. First to tell me the internet was down. Second to tell me the internet guy was coming tomorrow. And third to ask if I'd had dinner and, if not, would I like to go grab a combo basket at the Dixie Dog?

I have three rules for living: don't spend more than you make; trust, but verify; and never, ever, go out for Dixie Dog combo baskets with a creepy B&B guy whose first name you can't remember.

"Darn," I told him. "Already settled in for the night. Thanks, though."

He didn't speak to me this morning.

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Yep, still here. Still here trying to spin straw into gold. We'll see.