Keeping it real

We are in San Antonio, arrived last week.  Did you know San Antonio is the seventh largest city in the United States?  We have been out and about in the city, both downtown and in the suburbs.  Trust me, San Antonio is enormous.  But, then, isn't everything bigger in Texas?

We are in a tight spot in our new location, and I'm still not sure if we're in San Antonio or a suburb.  The only thing I can say with any certainty is that we are exactly four miles from SeaWorld.  I know this because the Waze app sends us out of our way so as to pass the park at every opportunity.

At our last campsite, we were advised to always watch out for trees when parking.  A picture is worth a thousand words. Here we are at our new campsite.  Consort stood outside the camper and watched as I carefully opened the slide.  There is no room to spare.

The trailers are parked very close to each other.  We share our "front yard" with the trailer across from us.  Our front doors face each other with barely space for a picnic table between.  We share our space with our neighbor's three kids; they share their space with our three dogs.  So far, it's all good.

This park, interestingly enough, backs up to a gun range.  The website didn't mention this.  After four or five days, though, the sound of guns being fired in the backyard becomes much less jarring.  But there are amenities.  We have cable.  I believe I am caught up on all the news.


I have been processing and digesting, sorting out my life here lately.  I have felt the need to pause and catch my breath.  These past three months have zipped by.  It's nearly impossible to get brain, body and life in sync.  There are times I'm not even sure what city I'm in.  But I am pleased that consort and I had the courage to believe we could live this new life.  It isn't easy and, at times, situations can be downright hard, but it's always exciting.  And there is laughter, lots of laughter.  It's a blast sharing adventures with your very best friend - and I don't mean the dogs.

Did you know there's an IKEA in San Antonio????

Consort and I, and all three mangy mongrels, were headed to my brother's house for Thanksgiving yesterday.  On the way, I saw it:  IKEA.  I was speechless, I am still.  Okay, okay.  I know I lead a very small life, but I have wanted to go to an IKEA store since I first became aware of it ten years ago.  The closest I've ever gotten was in NYC, and then I was trapped in the airport and could only drool on the window as I gazed longingly at it across the water.  I was ready for consort to drop me immediately at the nearest entrance.  Unfortunately, we already had plans for the day, the store was closed, and we totally missed the exit.

Thanksgiving day was wonderful.  We had lunch with the same group that met for BBQ in Elgin, plus my nephew, who was home from school.  After a perfect lunch, we decided to play a little pool.  My brother has a pool table that belonged to our grandfather set up in his house.  Challenges were thrown down, bragging ensued, and at least two different types of pool were played -- either that, or my nephew was changing the rules to keep me confused.  It's anybody's guess who came out on top at the end of the day, but I think it was me:  The day was delicious.

And the three mangy mongrels?  They spent a lot of time outdoors in the huge, fenced backyard.  They ran and barked to their hearts' content.  If Bella had been wearing lipstick, it would have been smeared on both ears. 

IKEA  I am in love with the lighting IKEA offers.  I was astounded by the really low prices.  I am thrilled with the variety, colors, fabrics, innovative designs.  We spent a very large portion of the day today strolling the aisles.  Consort pushed a cart and I tossed in most everything I wanted.   As a thank you, I made him fried chicken and mashed potatoes for dinner.  You've got to keep the cart pusher happy, right?

Let's Work Together - Wilbert Harrison

Short Stories 

Why is my blog called Permanent SAG?  Although permanent sag could arguably be used to describe my physical attributes, that was not why the name was chosen.  Years ago, consort and I were avid cyclists.  In fact, we were obsessed.  There were many weeks we pedaled close to 200 miles.  We also did organized rides.  At every ride there is a SAG wagon.  S-A-G is an acronym that stands for Support and Gear.  I always thought it  stood for Support and Guidance.  If you need your flat tire fixed, the SAG wagon is there to lend a hand.  If you lose your way, they guide you back to the route.  If you need water or a protein bar, you can count on the SAG wagon.  This seemed a fitting title for one who now rides in the passenger's seat holding the GPS as we make our way down the road.  While I don't know much about fixing flats, I do pack great snacks.

There are different types of camping sites and some come with full hook-ups.  A full hook-up allows you to dump all waste water and sewage from your camper into an established sewer system connected to your site.  Most of the COE (Corps of Engineers) campsites do not offer full hook-ups.  Without the full hook-up, you have to hitch up your trailer and drive to the dump station to dump your waste.  Hitching and unhitching, then stowing gear to go to the dump site, can take up a good portion of your day.  Alternatively, you purchase a portable "blue boy" or "gray boy" that allows you to dump waste water at your site into the portable tank and then transport the portable tank to the dump station leaving your trailer parked.  Before we took off from home, we were gifted a folding bike.  I brought my bicycle with me, but consort did not.  The extra bike is a great gift.  It gets a lot of use by consort for rides, but mostly he uses the bike to haul our gray boy to the dump station.  Genius!

If you're a regular reader of my blog, you'll remember I ended one recently with a quote by Stephen King from Doctor Sleep.  He cautions travelers to watch out for the Winnebagos and Bounders on the turnpikes and freeways.  When we pulled into our campsite here at Canyon Lake, we parked next to a  Minnie Winnie.  On the back of the camper is the most wonderful bike every created.  It's yellow and orange with daisies painted on it and sports lime green tires.  In the window of the camper is a sticker:  Got Fabric?  My curiosity was at an all time high.  I introduced myself to the owners of the camper at the first opportunity.  They've been full-time RV'ing for the past three years and are full of great information and stories.  She has five sewing machines in her Minnie Winnie for quilting and embroidery.  Impressive setup.  We've also met the folks across from us in the Bluebird motorhome who have been full-time RV'ing for 15 years.  I arranged for us all to get together tonight so the full-timers can talk and I can take notes.  They're currently sitting outside at my picnic table, so I need to put the scoot to the boot.  Final note.  The Minnie Winnie campers come from a family of campers.  Her folks owned a Bounder.

Traveling south





We saw this truck.  Can you read what the driver has written in the grime?



And then there was this sign, in case you're lost.

Daily dog walk

Willis Park Camp

 

 

The search for delicious

 

 

My brother, who lives in Austin and is an expert on BBQ, tells me I can stop at just about any grocery store in this area and pick up great BBQ.  Consort and I always take him at his word and so began our hunt for excellent smoked meat.  We googled “BBQ near me” and the first hit was in Granger, TX, population 1,431, about five miles from where we’re camping.  Consort had mentioned an interesting grocery store in Granger.  Could be, could be. 

The store was great; had a real old-timey feeling, wood floors and freestanding coolers.  The produce section looked like a postcard promoting veggies – gorgeous!  But the most amazing smell was coming from the back of the store.  I followed my nose to a great deli/meat counter, but there was absolutely no sign of BBQ.  I asked the lady behind the counter where that fabulous aroma was coming from.  The lady said they were getting ready for tomorrow and were all sold out of BBQ.  What I smelled was for tomorrow’s lucky customers.

Consort and I headed back to the truck with no purchases and a little disappointed.  It’s hard to get excited about a deli sandwich when you’ve just smelled ribs.  Back in the truck, I googled “BBQ near me” again, and this time was directed to Taylor, TX, about ten miles down the road.  In Taylor, TX, Google gave me two choices for BBQ:  A restaurant or a grocery store.  We opted for the grocery store. 

Davis Grocery wasn’t too far off Main Street, but it was in a kind of sketchy neighborhood, mostly sketchy.  I was beginning to wonder if we should turn back when consort began pulling off the road into the parking lot of a very questionable establishment. 

Whether the structure would pass building and safety codes was obvious; it would not.  There was a molded plastic sign that at one time lit up on a pole out front.  Someone had spray-painted the sign, blacking out the original name, then painting in the word TACOS.  The same appeared on the front of the building:  The old establishment’s name crossed out and the single word, TACOS, spray painted in splashy colors.  Everything was happening fast – consort pulling over, my noticing the dilapidated building and spray-painted words.  I looked across at consort and said quite definitively:  I am NOT going in there. 

Consort looked puzzled, which is not uncommon when we talk, and asked, What’s the problem?  I said, Are we looking at the same place?  Consort looks where I’m pointing and says, No, that’s not the place.  Look across the street.

Davis Grocery, a nice little building with a well-kept lot.  Smiling, I said, I’m good with this one.  That was when I saw the bars on the windows.  There were double metal doors on the side of the building with heavy locks on them, the kind of stuff you see on the backdoors of businesses.  I walked to the front of the building, but there were no other doors.  Consort politely opened the door for me as he always does and, not to be outdone, I politely said, You first.

 

The groceries were minimal in the store, but they carried all the basics you’d need in a pinch.  Consort was thrilled to find mutton listed on the menu.  He has fond memories of eating mutton at the World’s Fair in Missouri.  I keep telling him to Meet Me in St. Louis.  Sadly, the guy in front of us cleaned them all out of mutton.  We ended up with smoked Meyer's Elgin Sausage and a half rack of baby back ribs.

The ribs did not make it home.

Today we went back in to Davis Grocery for, you guessed it, mutton.  We went early.  We bought the last of what they had.  It was delicious.  Consort was pleased.

 

Let me close with a word of caution:  When you’re on the turnpikes and freeways of America, watch out for those Winnebagos and Bounders.  You never know who might be inside.  ~Stephen King, Doctor Sleep