OK, this blog is loosely titled “OKLAHOMA/DALLAS/AMARILLO/ALBUQUERQUE/FLAGSTAFF and MESQUITE.” Kind of rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it?
Our cat, Charlie, must not like the title as he’s lying here on the breakfast table bopping my laptop. He’s very particular about blog titles, as you can tell.
As I mentioned at the end of our last blog, getting back to AZ through the southwest is a long trek with not a whole lot of places to see, so we’ve had to depart from our usual Sunday to Sunday scheduling in order to be in St. George, UT, in time for the 28th Annual Huntsman Senior Games. We also had to alter our original schedule because of the passing away of my cousin Alex Smith. Instead of staying in Oklahoma City as planned, we’re detouring to the Dallas area to attend her memorial.
After two years on the RV road hitting restaurants all over the country almost every other day, it finally hit me: the American business model has effected a great change in the way their restrooms accommodate us.
What? You’ve noticed it, too?
It’s just that you no longer have to do anything when you get in there. First off, one doesn’t have the option anymore of flushing the toilet. Smart-Commodes (I-Commodes?) decide for themselves when flushing is necessary, then they do it … or they don’t. That option can be quite embarrassing.
Then you try to wash your hands. The soap dispenser with a mind of its own begins spewing soap automatically if you’re anywhere within a 14’-radius of it. Soap milling about on the counter is a continual hazard.
The water faucet then turns on automatically for you after a minute or two of frantic waving. Unfortunately, it also automatically turns off, usually far too soon, so there you are left with a handful of suds.
“Marge,” the automatic paper towel dispenser, is probably smarter than we are; she often shoots out a paper towel before you need it, knowing full well you’ll be visiting her soon enough. Sometimes Marge isn’t there and all you’re left with is one of those air-blower hand dryers. People use to hate those because you’d stand there forever looking like a dolt as a gentle breeze took 45 minutes to dry your hands. But if you luck out (?) and get one of the newer models, well, look out. I’m pretty sure they’ve been built by out-of-work, NASA engineers using spare jet-engine parts. Your hands are dry in less than five seconds, but they take off your nail polish, too. Of course, I’m not wearing nail polish this week, but you get my drift. I think the last jet blast leveled my fingerprints.
All of this just to improve the bathroom process. Now, if we could get them to do your business for you, well, then we’d really have something. Back to work, geniuses (genii ?).
The day after Diedre’s epic birthday saw us making our way down the road to McAlester, OK, where the highlight for us was seeing the Tina Fey movie, “This Is Where I Leave You.” It was pretty funny.
Oh, at dinner that night, I somehow remembered that probably the only person I know from Oklahoma is Steve Pittman from Muskogee. Steve and I were in Army basic training and Advanced Individual Training (AIT) together at Ft. Polk, Louisiana, back in the summer of 1972. We had been pretty good buds, even kept in touch for awhile afterwards, but that being just a year or 20 before the interweb, we soon lost touch. When I mentioned Steve to Diedre, she went into her usual Sherlock Holmes mode, and within three minutes, had found Steve in Tulsa, OK. There was even a picture that, although 42 years older, let me know she had indeed found the right Steve Pittman. I e-mailed him that night and then waited for a response. I figure it’ll probably be another 42 years before I hear from him.
On Thursday, September 25, we rumbled into our RV park in the Dallas suburb of Lewisville, TX. It was a very nice campground, situated in a giant city park on Lewisville Lake complete with baseball, softball, soccer, and football fields, a disc golf course, boat launches, and a swimming beach.
The next morning at breakfast while checking e-mails, I discovered a response from Army buddy Steve Pittman. He was amazed to hear from me and had thought about finding me over the years. Turns out he had taken a similar education path to Diedre’s, starting out as a teacher and working his way up to principal. He had really gotten into SCUBA diving while in the Mid east and had taught diving for a long time. He’s only a year away from retirement, then he and his wife plan on doing a bit of traveling. I quickly dispatched another e-mail inviting him to visit us at Terravita and stay in our casita. I’ll keep you informed.
That evening we went to my cousin Sydney’s house for a light dinner, get-together for all the relatives in town for her sister and my cousin Alex’s memorial the next day. Syd, Syd’s brother Duncan, Alex, and I all share a great-grandfather, McIndoe Alexander. Diedre and I were the only ones there from the Alexander side of the family since Syd’s mom was an only child, but there were a ton of Smith cousins there whom I had never met. It was a very comfortable evening with a lot of very nice, new people to meet.
On Saturday morning, I was up early to get in some softball swings at the park’s nearby batting cage. I would be playing two softball tournaments starting in less than a week, and since I hadn’t swung a bat in our seven months on the road, I figured I’d better hit a few so as not to totally embarrass myself.
Alex’s memorial was a buffet at her and husband Gord’s country club. There was a wonderful slide-show of her life with many pictures I had never seen. My brother and I used to visit Syd and Alex in Owatonna, MN, when we were kids. There was just three years separating the four of us.
Any passing is sad, but Alex’s was really so since she was only 64. It was liver failure that came upon her so suddenly. You may remember from last year’s Dallas blog that she was in fine shape, even accompanying us to the Texas Rangers’ baseball game. And now she’s gone. We feel so badly for Gord as it was really a shock for him to lose someone he figured to have at least another 20 years with. I’ll always love the picture Diedre took last year of Alex (Alexandra), her nephew and another cousin of mine, Alexander, and me. I like to call it: ALEX-CUBED.
Rest in peace, dear cousin.
On Sunday, we broke camp and made our way north to Amarillo, TX, where they had an excellent RV park. Of the 34 camps we’ve stayed in so far this summer, it was only the 4th one to which I gave a “5” (Excellent) rating. Since Amarillo is a portal to anywhere east for us, I’m sure we’ll be staying there again.
On Monday, we landed in Albuquerque. That made it time for yet another old-home-week. Tom Schroeder had graduated St. Louis Park High School (MN) with me in 1968. I played basketball against him when we were younger, and we were both part of the same sports-crowd in high school. His dad had even been my junior high school principal. So of course, I lost touch with him after graduation and had not seen him in 46 years. Through a fellow graduate friend of both of ours known only as “The Shrub” (long story), we made contact and Tom found our RV park. Except for a mustache and a little gray, he looked the same as he had 46 years ago at the senior All-Night Party. It was great catching up. Tom and his wife have some acreage where they keep horses and a miniature burro (miniature? I thought all burros were miniature). Just like Amarillo, we go through Albuquerque often, so Tom is now on our “to-be-annoyed list” whenever we pass through town. (DK here - I did take a photo of the boys but my camera ate it in the download. For sure we will reconnect when we go to Alburquerque again so I can get a photo!)
Speaking of our Albuquerque RV park, a strange thing happened the next morning. A mysterious fog rolled in and when it cleared, to the tune of “The Twilight Zone” theme song, somehow it was 1950 again, the year this RV park first opened. Diedre and I couldn’t believe it.
Interstate 40 was gone with the old Route 66 in its place. I got gas (ethyl, of course) at the ancient gas pump, although three service-men rushed out to pump my gas, check my oil, and charge me only 11-cents a gallon. The modern RV’s were gone. In their places were cars and trailers from the 50’s.
Diedre went in for her hair appointment and was put under a hair dryer at least 50 years old.
I did our laundry using an old-fashioned wringer to dry the clothes. I then sat down to watch first-run episodes of “The Honeymooners” on an old console TV while Diedre furiously battled to get the top score on a new-fangled video game called “Asteroids.” It was only when I began maniacally playing the pump organ like Lurch from “The Addams Family” that the fog returned, and miraculously, it was 2014 again.
Go figure.
On Tuesday, September 30, we drove up to Santa Fe to see Diedre’s faux brother, Tom Costello, who was holding our mail. Tom’s dad, Red Costello, was Diedre’s god-father. A nicer man than Red never lived. Tom is a chip off the old man's block.
You may remember back in April in Houston, TX, we had visited our long-time theatre friends, Fudd and Bugs (Laura and Chris Hawkes). Fudd had been instrumental in Diedre getting to meet and have her picture taken there with Broadway legend, Tommy Tune. Well, that was at the University of Houston. In the meantime, Fudd was recruited by the Santa Fe University of Art and Design to chair their performing arts department. They also wanted Bugs to be their technical director. Their department offices are in The Greer Garson Theatre.
These were big moves for the both of them. It was so very exciting to see Fudd, the young, just-out-of-college girl who we first met when she got a small supporting role for the Minnesota Shakespeare Company when Diedre was its managing director in the mid-90’s, now being put in charge of an entire college’s theatre program . We’re such proud parents.
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| (over 20 years ago) |
We were back on the road the first day of October. But before leaving New Mexico, it was now Diedre’s turn to play “old-home-week,” this time with Western Michigan University chum Tom “Gags” McGaghie. Tom is also in education, working for the Native American Reservation school system in Grant, NM. I had never met Tom, but moments after being introduced, it was like we were old buddies. This “Santa Claus look-alike” is a bear of a man with a great laugh to match. Over coffee, Tom and DK talked over every minute of their time together at Western. Since Grant is on the route to/from Albuquerque, I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of Gags in the near future.
NOTE: Is everybody in New Mexico named “Tom”? (Schroeder, Costello, McGaghie).
Late that afternoon we made it to the J&H RV Park in Flagstaff, AZ. This 4.5 acres park was built in 1982 by Joanne and “HaRVey” (That’s how he spells it) Mickelson. They love their park and it shows. It’s won the “National RV Park of the Year Award” three times, i.e. 1994, ’98, & 2003. It’s truly a wonderful park: no smoking, you must be over 55 to stay there, great wifi and cable TV, home to several smaller green spaces with seating/gathering areas, and a lovely pet memorial park with actual marble gravestones. We decided, in fact, that the campsite was so nice that in 10 years when we’re done RV’ing, AB1 probably won’t be worth selling anyway so we’re going to drive it up here and leave it in Flagstaff from May to September. It’ll be our getaway from the heat of a Phoenix summer.
The J&H owners were also a pair of cut-ups. While most camp owners have a list of rules that make the Gestapo seem like Sunday school, Joanne and HaRV let humor make their points. They had signs about controlling your pets and children. There was also one about stowing your garbage. And a lost and found reference was particularly funny.
Well done, Joanne and HaRV!
Our only accomplishment in Flagstaff was to secure Diedre’s new driver’s license, then it was off to Mesquite, NV, on Thursday for the Mesquite warm-up-for-The-Huntsman-Games Softball Tournament, of which we were the three-time defending champions. This year would be no different as we won all three games Saturday, then swept the final two on Sunday to take the title.
It was great seeing the guys and their wives again for the first time since playing ball with them last March. That night we met up with the Erickson’s (Jimmy and Carol) and the Kinch’s (Phil aka “Sparky” and Sue) at a local sports bar. Phil told the best story of the night. A Central Michigan University (CMU) alum, Phil related how he was once out with buddies playing golf. They stopped at a bar to have one for the road. A nearby boisterous group just happened to be singing the CMU school song, so Phil stopped over to say “hi.” When he told them where he was from, one guy exclaimed, “REALLY! Do you know Sparky Kinch?!”
Phil waited a beat.
“Know him?” he finally said … “I AM him!”
Other than softball, the weekend had few highlights. After a nice casino buffet on Friday with members of our Rox-Over-60 Senior softball team, Diedre and I once again put a casino darn-near out of business with some savvy video poker/blackjack wagering that left us $5.85 to the good. We slept well that night.
Then after Saturday’s three wins in 90-degree afternoon heat, we collapsed at the nearby Peggy Sue’s Sports Bar. Shortstop Robbie Masson had perhaps the largest pot-pie I‘ve ever seen ... probably that anyone has ever seen. Somewhere in Michigan, I think he’s still working on it.
OK, a 5-0 record on Sunday should be good enough to prepare us for the big Huntsman Games Senior Softball Tournament where, out of 50-55 teams annually, we’ve won two silver and one gold medals in the last three years. We’re now racing to St. George to set-up for our standard pre-tourney Margarita Party. We’re looking forward to seeing you all there.
Then … LET THE GAMES BEGIN!
With the major portion of this year’s adventure almost done, we now begin the long trek back west where, within a little over a month, we’ll be back home again. Gee ... I wonder what that’s like.
Our normal Sunday-Sunday schedule was thrown off a bit by the sheer distance between Nashville, TN, and Brandon, MO, so our maximum 300-mile travel day on Monday, September 15, put us in Poplar Bluff, MO. It became a bit of a two-day respite for us before the big blow-out in Branson. Poplar Bluff saw a lot of sleeping, a trip to the library to get better Wifi to try to keep up with this furshlugginer blog, and a trip to the local movie theatre to see that wonderful true story, “For the Love of the Game,” about a high school football team.
Sufficiently refreshed, we pulled in to “the live music capital of the universe,” Branson, Missouri, on Wednesday, September 17. Its title was so declared in a feature profile by “60 Minutes” even though its population is only 10,000. After a week there, the only comparison we could make was that Branson is to Nashville as Laughlin is to Las Vegas. I mean, it’s an OK place, the one major benefit being that we found more sugar-free ice cream there than any place we’ve been to in the country. Regardless of that, however, we won’t be making any special attempts to see this town again.
Our week in Branson was a lot like the Arabian Nights tale of the lowly shoemaker who killed seven flies with one swat. He was so proud of his feat that he put a sign in his store window saying, “KILLED SEVEN WITH ONE BLOW!” The word quickly spread to the king and then, yadda-yadda-yadda, the shoemaker ended up marrying the king’s daughter. Well, our equally stunning feat was that in Branson, WE SAW SEVEN SHOWS IN SEVEN NIGHTS!
WHEW!
That ought to get us some royal notice.
We started off our week in old-folks-Disneyland with a walk by their “Hollywood Wax Museum,” drawn near by a massive King Kong climbing the side of the building. Note that we did not go in. We` may be suckers, but we’re not “stupid” suckers. We also copped a picture there of the Mount Rushmore of Hollywood: John Wayne, Marilyn Monroe, Charlie Chaplin, and Elvis.
Diedre surprised me by opting for dinner at the marvelous “Cake and Cream,” a fifties malt-shop that had more sugar-free desserts than I had ever seen in my nascent two years as a diabetic. I topped off the meal with my first ever, store-bought, sugar-free chocolate sundae. This place should be a Mecca for all of us diabetics, making annual pilgrimages here to pray at the low-glucose altar.
Show #1 (I’ll number them to help you better keep track, especially if you’re scoring at home): The best show we saw all week and the only real headliners in town were the venerable Oak Ridge Boys, stars since our hoary youth. Buying tickets the afternoon of the show, we didn’t expect much for seating. However, there was a big group who didn’t show, so we were encouraged to move closer to the stage. We were able to improve our position big-time by going from row 29 to row 13
The Oak Ridge Boys did a very nice show. We even got to sing along with their mandatory rendition of their most famous song, “Elvira.” Being the modest sort I am (and with a really bad singing voice), I just lip-synced. Nobody was any the wiser.
The next night we started off similarly with a fine dinner, this time at the India Clay Oven establishment. Both our meals were nice and spicy. We then made our way over to Show #2, this time at the Mickey Gilley Theatre. Although Mickey wasn’t in town,we did get to see a very fun show called ”SIX". It has been knighted as “The Best Show in Branson” two years running. It stars six brothers, six voices, and zero musical instruments. They verbally create the music to accompany their singing. One brother did all the drums and percussion. His jaws had to be exhausted after the two-hour performance. And once again, we were able to improve our position, this time by 10 rows. We ended up in row 5 at the left hash mark.
OK, you may know that our girl Diedre’s big birthday (I won’t say which one, but as a cryptic clue, I will let it slip that it’s the one where the government gives you a Medicare card) was coming up on Tuesday, September 23. Ergo, this whole week in Branson has been dubbed “Diedre’s Gala Birthday Week,” and boy, let me tell you, she’s taking advantage of it. But one thing she doesn’t know is that I have a plan named “SSGSPOAT,” which stands for “Super Secret Greatest Surprise Party Of All Time.” It’s going to be great and it’s going to be tonight. If you’re interested, keep reading today’s (Friday’s) blog.
Birthday week Friday starting out innocuously enough with a trip to “Gramma Ruth’s,” the number one rated restaurant out of the 300+ restaurants in Branson. We were going there for breakfast. Unfortunately, when we got there we were surprised to find out that the number one restaurant in Branson only sells cinnamon rolls. When Diedre got in line, she saw a ton (literally) of overweight (330+ pounds) people in front of her. That’s all it took for her to get the hell out of there.
We moved on to old Branson to have breakfast at our second choice, a fun little place called “The Old Farm House.” Then while DK got her nails done, I went into show-ticket-mode to get ducats for the remaining five shows, surprise and otherwise, for “Birthday Week, 2014” (copyright Kaye and Stuart). I came back in time to tour the massively retro “Dick’s Old Time 5 & 10” with Diedre. Dick’s is absolutely full to the rafters of fun, nostalgic things like Lucy and Ethel lunch boxes. It’s as if Mayberry of the 1960’s lives on.
(SPOILER ALERT: “SSGSPOAT” is coming up.)
Unbeknownst to Diedre, I had purchased tickets that day for an evening cruise/dinner/show on the Branson Belle Showboat (Show #3) on Table Rock Lake. I did tell her where we were going. However, I did NOT tell her I had purchased FOUR tickets instead of two.
The mystery thickens.
The Branson Belle is huge: four stories high and 278’ long. It can service 700 passengers.
Abandoning my miserly, coupon-only spending ways, I got us seated at the VIP table. Suitably elevated and dead center with no one in front of us, these were easily the best seats in the house. Diedre wanted to know who I was and what I had done with her beloved Alexx.
After ordering off an extensive menu (something offered only to us VIP-types; everyone in steerage got the same gruel), I convinced Diedre we had time to go up to the fourth deck and take a look at the water and shoreline as the sun was setting. Once there, we got some wonderful views of the lake.
And the mystery was now almost fully gelled.
As we leaned on the railing while enjoying the lake’s scenery, a ship's officer appeared.
“Are you Diedre Kaye?” he asked.
After I assured him I wasn’t, he asked the same question of my wife. He said the captain wanted to see her. Now, I had earlier let it slip to DK that there was a chance she might have to go on stage that night and be part of the show, so she immediately figured it either had something to do with what I had said earlier, or she thought I might be trying to recreate the first meeting of her parents some 75 years ago when dad Fritz was a radio operator on a Mississippi River passenger boat and mom Barty was an attractive young college grad. Fritz saw her and was immediately entranced by her beauty, so he had a note sent to Barty saying there was a telegram for her in the radio operator’s office. One thing led to another and before they knew it, 16 years had gone by and they had four kids. Well, either way, she didn’t think it was that unusual, so she willingly went with the officer.
As she started to go down the stairs, there at the bottom was …
SSGSPOAT!!
Yes, at the bottom of the stairwell were her good pals, Mary Harberts (the maid-of-honor from our wedding 23 years earlier) from Michigan and Jo Gemmill, local pal from Cave Creek, AZ, by way of London. The requisite laughter, tears, and hugging ensued by the three ecstatic gals.
Good food and a very good show followed as our girl was truly surprised and stayed so for several days to come.
The next day being Saturday, I figured it would be a real girls' day as they’d probably go out into Branson for a tour of the Day-Glow Mop Factory, high tea, and a lecture on beading and crocheting. But they crossed me up, instead opting for some serious shopping, sushi, and wine. While they were doing that, I had an equally fun time getting Zippy’s oil changed.
Yeah, I lead a life close to that of George Clooney’s.
That night we had tickets for “Dolly Parton's Dixie Stampede Dinner and Show” (Show #4), a combination rodeo-Broadway show-history lesson. At the will-call, I asked where our tickets were. They said, “Oh, they’re good. You’ve got the 5th row.”
Only, when we got there, although we WERE in the 5th row … well, of course, there were only FIVE rows in the entire place. In essence, we were in the last row. Still, not bad seats.
All four of us were dressed western, at least as western as three Midwesterners and an English socialite can be. We toured Dolly’s extensive and immaculate stables pre-show to familiarize ourselves with that evening’s stars … at least the four-legged variety.
The show was set up in a rodeo corral with the aforementioned five rows of seats surrounding it. Each row had one long table in front of the seats. Food was served while the show went on. And regarding the food, well, they did make a curious choice for their massive dinner:
there was no silverware.
Yes, the geniuses at Dolly’s Stampede decided we were eating all finger food, or so they claimed. It was quite interesting doing battle with an entire broasted chicken, potatoes, and soup, all solely with your fingers and all in near-total darkness. I felt like we were at a kids’ Halloween party.
This avowed best dinner show in Branson included trick horseback riding, buffaloes and long-horned steers, singing, dancing, comedy (sort of), and, of course, the inevitable audience participation. Nothing like paying big bucks for professional entertainment and then watching the guy sitting next to you run an obstacle course trying to win toys and trinkets. Surprisingly, the highlight of the birthday-part-2-celebration actually turned out to be a great dive bar, The Rowdy Beaver, where we started AND ended the evening.
We were up early Sunday to meet the SSGSPOAT ladies for breakfast before they flew home. We dined at the Belgian Pancake House and had a fine breakfast. Mary and Jo really made DK’s Medicare-birthday something she will never forget.
Now back to just the two of us for birthday week, we took our daily three-mile constitutional back at a park near the Branson Belle. There we ran into this gal who was, I think, the reincarnation of Scarlet O’Hara. Such a nice lady. We were also greeted by a brown turtle. You just never know whom you’re going to run into on one of these walks.
That night we dined at an average seafood buffet called “Starvin’ Marvin’s.” I doubt owner Marvin’s starvin’ as he overcharges and under serves. Then it was on to Show #5: "Legends in Concert" which was billed as “The World’s Greatest Love Tribute Show!” The performance was held at Dick Clark’s American Bandstand Theater. It included bands and back-up dancers. Tonight’s pretenders featured a faux Kenny Chesney as well as Michael Buble, the Blues Brothers, Marilyn Monroe, and Elvis.
Being a big time “Saturday Night Live” guy, I loved the Blues Brothers. Their Elwood was so good, he not only reminded me of Dan Ayckroyd, but even more so of Tom Koelbel who played Elwood for the Phoenix sketch comedy troupe, “The Early Bird Special,” for which I was the head comedy writer for five years.
Their Marilyn Monroe was excellent. She’s always been one of Diedre’s favorite actresses. This MM had a very good voice and quick, clever repartee with some old guy (at least older than me) whom she got up on stage. Their Elvis didn’t look much like “The King,” but if you closed your eyes, his voice would have had you believing you were in a Sun Studio’s recording session with Mr. Presley.
All in all, a fun night.
Birthday week rumbled on. Monday’s dinner was one of Diedre’s favorites: fried oysters at the Outback Steak and Oyster Bar. They were excellent as were my chicken-kabobs. We’ll have to try the Outback by our movie house back in Scottsdale if we, like Marco Polo, ever make it home.
After a quick Branson photo-op with former President Ronald “Dutch” Reagan, we were off to Show #6: “#1 Hits of the 60's … & 50’s Too” at the Caravelle Theatre. They were doing their 12th season of recreating the days of bobby-soxers, greasers, and Viet-Nam protests. It made me think: I wonder if in the far future, they’ll ever be doing a show looking back at the songs of 2000-2009. What will they call it?
“Hits of the O’s”?
We had been told that the evening would be the most fun we would have in Branson. As my buddy Strauss would say, “Meh.”
“Hits” has been voted the best matinee show in Branson two years running. I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not. This show had a little bit of everything: British Invasion, Motown, California Surfin’, Maori war chants … OK, maybe not that last one.
By now, Diedre and I had decided that all the shows in Branson operate along the same basic script. It’s like they’re on auto pilot. Each one goes like this:
1- at the start, they want you to say “hello,” but it’s never loud enough the first time, so you have to yell it twice;
2- they all eventually drag some poor unsuspecting soul (a senior almost always) up on stage and somehow embarrass him;
3- they constantly encourage us to “help them out” with a song by clapping. Hey, we’re paying THEM to entertain us, not the other way around, so why do we have to be part of the entertainment? DAGNABIT! (Universal phrase for Diedre and me when we’re acting far too old for our age);
4- then it’s time for an “audience participation game,” and it’s always a “lame” game … again, WE are paying to see them entertain us, not to see some boob from Boise, Idaho, try to sing an octave above a screech;
5- then there are the mandatory tributes to religion and America;
6- they then recognize our veterans by having them stand up and take a bow; as a former army reservist, I was standing up and down so often that my suspenders finally broke;
7- all performers have one rendition or another, but it’s always a joke about seniors not being up to date on computers, facebook, or cell phones (true as it may be);
8- another joke they tell is a bad one that nobody likes so that they can say, “Ooh, nine people got that one.”;
9- and finally, there’s the obligatory standing ovation no matter how weak the show was. Diedre and I are fairly strict about who gets standing O’s, so it’s always a little bit insulting to see s.o.’s given for absolutely every performance.
And now … the REAL celebration: Tuesday, September 23, 2014, DK’s official Medicare birthday. Today would be “no holds barred,” “no time limit,” and “loser leaves town.” It was going to be CR-AZY!
We started off with a genuine hill-billy breakfast at Billy Gail’s. But the highlight of the day was soon to come: we were going ZIP-LINING!
Yes, the two of us would be zip-lining today so that Diedre can forever say that she went zip-lining ON her 65th birthday. The location would be the Branson Zipline Canopy Tours at Wolfe Creek Preserve. It was about seven miles north of Branson and was billed as an Ozarks eco-adventure with professionally trained guides. We had once again gotten extravagant and opted for the most expensive outing, “The Xplorer Canopy Tour,” which included seven ziplines on ten sky-bridges. The 2.5-hour tour even included an eco-friendly snack break consisting of some kind of birdseed-granola bar and water. I was stuffed for a week.
The tour started off with a ride to the top of the mountain in a Swiss Army Troop Carrier. And you know how tough those Swiss Army neutralists can be with those deadly Swiss Army knives.
And then it was “veni, zippi, vinci”: we came, we zipped, we conquered. .
After a hard day of zip-lining, there’s nothing better than a FREE Krispy Kreme Donut, for which I just happened to have a coupon and which I was allowed to gastronomically “cheat” with on this day. Apparently my lovely wife was in a particularly giddy, birthday mood.
YAY, 65!
From there we did our last minute scrambling to see such classic Branson sites as the Andy Williams Moon River Theatre.
After that, “kitschy” sites was more like it. First, it was the world-famous “pig-butt” sign which I don’t get at all. Then we found the world’s largest banjo. Next was the Titanic (1/2-scale replica and still buoyant).
And finally we made it to a very falling apart “Ripley’s Believe It or Not” museum. I must emphasize again that we did not go into these last two places but had to take the necessary photographs just to entertain you, our dear blog readers.
Tuesday night’s actual birthday dinner was held at “Mitsu Niko,” a sushi place (DK’s all-time favorite food). And this place was very good, even without any surprise guests. Their sushi blue fire roll was out-DARN-standing! Diedre, in fact, claimed their sushi to be “THE BEST EVER!” The place, of course, was run by a couple who were … RUSSIAN?!
Wait … what?
Moving on.
Tonight’s show was the #7 (and final) show of the highly acclaimed “Diedre Hits 65 Tour.” We were going to see “The Shoji Tabuchi Show” at the Shoji Tabuchi Theatre which has been playing Branson for 26 years. The unusual highlight of this show were their fancy, VERY fancy Shoji Tabuchi restrooms which were right across from the Shoji Tabuchi concession stand and next to the Shoji Tabuchi janitor’s closet. The restrooms were even featured on “Good Morning, America.” Inside there were five cushy easy chairs, chandeliers, potted palms, beveled glass wall tiles, onyx sinks, fresh orchids, and even, now get this, a hand-carved mahogany pool table.
Now THAT’S lounging! .
The star of the show was, of course, Shoji Tabuchi, a Japanese-born, classically trained violinist (at age seven) who loves country music. The show turned out to be an odd combination of a Japanese-violin (fiddle) playin’ country singer … and “singer” is giving him all the best of it. His English was so broken, I’d have to call it “shattered.” Nevertheless, our birthday girl was excited to have her picture taken with the great man … “Shoji Tabuchi,” just in case you forgot.
Enough said about Branson.
Our next blog will consist of stops that include (number of nights at each in parentheses) McAlester, OK (1); Dallas, TX (3); Amarillo, TX (1); Albuquerque, NM (2); and Flagstaff, AZ (1). I know, that’s not quite our usual Sunday to Sunday scheduling. It’s just that getting back to AZ through the southwest is a long trek with not a whole lot of places to go. Nevertheless, I WILL entertain you with sparkling tales about the World’s Largest Ball of Twine in Amarillo and the National Linoleum Festival in McAlester.
I bet you can hardly wait.
