The clock is ticking down on my Texas time and if Air France is on its game this time tomorrow, I will be watching Texas disappear beneath me as I make my way back to Paris. As is my habit, I am feeling a tad conflicted- wistful about leaving family, friends, and dog, but excited to be rekindling my love affair with Paris and sharing it with the multitudes of visitors we will be receiving in the next few months. And I’m stressed. Of course.
I wasn’t stressed last weekend when I paid my goodbye visit to Central Texas. I spent some good time with my mom and my sister, and then drove out to our lake house that is not a lake house, to button it up tight and hug my neighbors’ necks. The welcome rains of late have resulted in lush green grasses and abundant flowers along the roadsides and in my garden. Even the cacti are blooming. It all makes me ridiculously happy.
This old abandoned building sits on the road just before we get to our house. I have always loved it and imagined what I would do with it. Pies? Cold beer and peanuts? Picnic lunches to take out on the boat? Palm readings? The possibilities are endless. I am open to suggestions.
A few short years ago our lake neighborhood lost an angel of a man to brain cancer. Brent could build or fix anything. He was an amazing guy. Fortunately, one of the legacies he left us was this gorgeous vegetable garden he built for his wife. He gathered the stone from his property and made a pretty little wall around the beds, which are loaded with rich soil and watered by an ingenious irrigation system he installed. Another neighbor sowed seeds and small plants earlier this spring, and now the garden is abundant with tomatoes, potatoes, leeks, onions, peppers, and herbs. The bounty is shared by the neighborhood, one final gift from Brent.
I love this old tractor that sits quietly in Brent’s yard.
Goodbye, Ricky and Lucy, our next door chickens.
Can I tell you how happy I would be if this dry cove in our backyard were filled with water when I come back? Pleeeeaaaaasssseeee!
From the lake house I drove an hour away to a little German town called New Braunfels. My book club spent the weekend together at the house of one of our members. We had such a good time eating, drinking, shopping, and yes, even sneaking in a little talk about books. New Braunfels is full of precious old homes that I was dying to go explore. I had to settle for pictures of the exteriors.
After dinner we were lured into an open-air bar by the great live music drifting out into the street. Amazingly, we were not the oldest people in the place- always a good thing.
While shopping the next morning I spied this “vintage” purse, which is just like the kind my friends and I carried in college. Isn’t it weird when possessions from your past are labeled “vintage”? Weird and just so wrong.
On my way home Sunday morning I couldn’t pass up this restaurant, which has been feeding lunch to church-goers in Schulenburg for many months of Sundays. I gave in to the lunch plate of fried chicken, which was tastier than the mushy green beans and bland boiled potatoes that accompanied it. I’m pretty sure it will be awhile before I see fried chicken on a menu again.
Thanks for hanging out with me here in Texas for a while. Keep your berets and cigarettes handy because we will be back in Paris before you know it!
Go Team USA!