we stopped by St Cyril and Methodius church in fayetteville to view the six rediscovered paintings by ??????.* our tour guide was a tall and sassy elderly man with hands so red and swollen and covered with paper-thin skin they looked about ready to burst. to our small group, he explained the symbolism of each painting... supposedly according to what had seemed to make sense to him. like the few elderly people i come into contact with, he had a vise-like grip that he couldn't resist applying to my arm which made me feel he was literally holding on for dear life and attempting to steal my "youth" from me.
*(during my online search to add links and replace question marks, i was able to find close to absolutely nothing on this location causing me to wonder if i was actually there or dreamed it all.)
i'm certain everyone has seen a commercial for these by now, but needless to say... i was entertained during the return trip from the hill country weekend upon seeing the DQ marquee in Smalltown, TX introducing the new "Moolatte". i giggled and giggled because it reminded me of how i recently renamed NJ's Mr Kitty "mulatto" and, well, because DQ ad exec's actually sat down at an oval conference table somewhere and came up with "Moolatte". oddly enough, the product only comes in flavors Cappuccino, Mocha, or French Vanilla. The Swirl option is conspicuously absent.
a couple of hours later, we saw a sign indicating the highway we were on had been shut down. dad said we would have to travel a mile east and pick up I-45. wait... we're only a mile from I-45? apparently they parallel one another, but dad enjoys the back roads.
before dropping me off in corsicana, we popped into the collin street bakery and battled crowds to get dad a fruitcake. in the meantime, i couldn't resist carb loading with three loaves of bread and some black olive focaccia for NJ (my focaccia magically turned into a pizza a couple of days later).
we arrived home early enough for me to visit NJ. he started crying because he had really really missed me and mulatto, snaggletooth, and the other two felines hadn't been enough to fill the void. unless that void was needing to be filled with enough cat hair to make a faux-angora sweater. it was really sad. i dried his tears with the focaccia and medicated his angst with a giant beer from shiner.
i was later horrified to discover i had left my pillow in brenham. despite the fact that i had made a conscious decision while getting into my father's blazer to leave the pillow in the backseat and keep my jacket with me, no bells rang to the fact that i had not just finished putting the pillow into the backseat. if b&b's didn't insist on following the sense-muddling style that is shabby chic decor, i would've been able to spot my pillow as it sat staring at me from plain view ... silently trapped inside its own body yet still trying to cry out to me as i walked out the door for the last time. tragically, it was wearing one of the pillowcases that had taken me much effort to locate this past summer. my heart is heavy.