Catfish and Shrimp

We ate lunch today at The Ark. Fried catfish and shrimp and cold beer courtesy of my Great Aunt Barbara, a real-life southern bell.

And we got the brakes fixed. The man at the repair shop said "Howdy, Yankees" when we drove up. He said that he was happy to see us drive up, but would be even happier to see us drive away. It was all in good humor though, and we laughed with him, in all our different accents. He was born and raised in Talladega and had only been out of town once, when he had an "all expense paid vacation to Vietnam." And here we are, two kids, younger then his grandchildren, unmarried, and with the intention to drive clear across two countries. How generations and geographies change our paths.

So in the morning we drive out of town and into the next. We plan to stop once tomorrow, in a town just over the Alabama-Mississippi boarder, called Meridian. There we will pick up a handful of red dirt and pay our respects to all the "red dirt girls...who never made it further cross the line then Meridian." From there we move to the next state to pay our respects yet again. This time though, the state is Louisiana and we all know how bad the troubles have been there. We'll camp for the night, pick up tales to tell, and head the next day, to Texas. Ahh, the home state of our wonderful President. He sends ya'll his regards.

In the words of Emmylou Harris "coulda been the whiskey, coulda been the pills." We'll let you know if we find out which. Personally, we think methamphetamines might have had something to do with it.

Until we meet in cyberspace again, aloha.