Seven-eleven

Oh thank heaven.

This numerically significant day NEARLY totally excaped me and I caught it very late but did catch it so a late filing IS ACCEPTABLE.

Eleven July was Saturday and Patty & I hit the ground running. I started by attacking a large fallen limb from the neighbors Bradford pear tree. I was larger than I thought and about all I was able to do was start trimming some branches & assessing what & a schedule for cutting it up for winter firewood. At another time.

We did a bike ride, a shorter training loop before breakfast & traffic got crazy.

Then hit the lagoon to cool off the machine-human interface with coffee & surf.

Then we loaded Silver & headed East into Fannin county & the trade days in Bonham looking for the Handle guy. I took my hoe (NOT ho) & but could not find the ‘pitchfork’ anywhere in the garage so eventually left without it. We were in search of the Handle guy ideally to make repairs to both tools however this will unfold later.

The leisurely drive up to the country was relaxing as always. Because of the timing, we first hit Mudbones first for lunch. The roadside burger joint did not disappoint. No beer, no fries & no Coke.

Praise the Lord we brought a life support kit and when we got the possum (#7) and the smokey jalapeno (#9) to go we were suddenly in great shape.

Pulling into a side lot, we paid the attendent $5 for a $2 park. We found the shade of a very large tree in the middle of a field & thuroughly enjoyed the burgers in the warm shadey oasis after a lengthy chat with the lot attendent on entry. During this full disclosure conversation, we got rough directions to St Elizabeth church for Mass that afternoon as well as directions (again rough) to the Bonham Hardware store (just off the square ... NOT).

Anyway, we polished off the burgers & felt more like a nap in the heat but still left Silver tied to stroll the grounds at Bonham Trade Days.

It was too hot so we paced ourselves accordingly. We stopped at booths window shopping & Patty dickered with vendors undercutting & lowballing them for various & sundry items buying nothing until much later.

There were many, many vendors & booths & there was no way we were going to see them all this day. Biological breaks & a refilling of frio cerveza was in order so we took a timeout & headed back to Silver when we literally stumbled upon the Handle guy himself.

We separated Patty heading back to Silver & the Port-o-potty while I picked the brain of the Handle guy.

An ordained minister of about 90, he had the back of his old pickup truck loaded full & well organized with little cubbies, bins & pidgeon holes of various shapes & sizes of wooden handles.

Patty returned with the hoe & when I showed it to him he laughed. He very politely pointed out all of the issues wrong of my hoe. He had 2 or 3 hoes Made (forged) in America which side by side put mine to shame.

Sparing the reader all the gory details, he gave me an idea how to make my hoe return to usabilty. A sixteen penny nail wedged between the head & the handle would keep the head securely on & in place.

Then, using my hand die grinder would enable me to put a suitable edge on the hoe allowing it to function as intended which as dull as it was it could not do.

I told him that I could not find my ‘pitchfork’ as I said earlier & after an in-depth discussion stood corrected that mine was NOT a pitchfork at all rather it was a potato spade according to the definition of the ancients (or Elders).

You see, I learned a pitchfork has three ROUND prongs & a long handle used for tossing hay & manure.

The potato spade usually has four (4) flat prongs & a shorter handle. The Handle Guy knew his stuff all right. So I left with nada but knowledge. Which was much better than nothing an much less costly.

I bought a cool painted plate for the island room for $1.00 (US) & Patty picked up two (2) pair of tennis shoes for $1.00 each which she was very happy about.

We had had enough of eating the dust, repressive heat & the crowds so we headed back to Silver for the next stop.

After locating Bonham Hardware with some difficulty, we had to ask assistance once inside to find a garlic press. The design of what they had available in stock was not satisfactory. We were refered to a manager that looked up other garlic presses on a website neither of which were what I was looking for so we strike out again.

From here, we begin our search for St Elizabeth’s Catholic Church for Mass. We find the little church but are way too early so we circle the hood & head back for the main drag. Patty has to fizz so we find a KFC where we get a Coke & Patty relieves herself. We splash in some Maker’s for the ride & slowly head back to St Elizabeth’s navigating narrow streets passed an interesting collection of home & yards.

The church hadn’t moved & we park freeing the ice from the soft & hard liquids.

We take seats near the rear & wait for Mass to start. Which of course it does.

‘If there are any visitors, please stand & welcome to Saint Elizabeth's' so I do.

An usher, an attractive Hispanic lady, taps my shoulder. I turn & recieve her warm welcome. I thought this very nice.

The church is tiny & the flock numbers 28 this day. I know because I counted them. Some different from three (3) or so weeks ago at the Cathedral when Mass was said by the Bishop & we received Communion from Him.

Anyway, the Church was tidy, compact & the Mass was certainly recognizalble. The celebrant, Pastor Molina, had a very nice Homily & Patty & I were asked quietly if we would like to take the Offeratory gifts up to the alter at the appropriate time.

Sure. It was hard to say no to the dazzling smile of the usherita. I felt something inside melt. Slightly.

Let’s take a time out & step back here for a moment.

We, this part of 'we' anyway, looked like two Aliens just dropped or much more likely booted from the Mothership. Not the least bit presentable, a 4-5 day bearded growth that very much cultured & supported the homeless look.

Patty was one (1) square short of mortified with my white socks & accompanying shower sandles.

‘Shorts’ were a print bathing suit black with a beige floral print. The white t-shirt, 'COR championship swimming' in large, bold, block red-white & blue letters, was stained, almost (almost ?) filthy however I had removed my Addison Fire department ball cap so that was not part of the costume for Mass anyway. However the matted mop of hair was undisguiseable.

Are you getting the picture yet ?

This ensemble carried the gifts to the alter. Patty to say the least was much more ‘presentable.’

Anyway, after Mass Father Molina thanks me on the way out for bringing up the Gifts. Honestly, I didn’t even feel for one minute like I was dressed like some sort of escapee, alien or circus performer.

I was afterall in the House of the Lord & he didn’t or doesn’t care HOW you arrive or WHAT you look like just that you are there. I felt this no more so than this day.

After Mass, we were famished so we found our way back to KFC & got a 3-piece meal which we consumed like wild animals on the way home washing it all down with more M & C.

On the way, I got a text msg from S1 that RedSox v Yanks were on TV that night so he came over arriving shortly after we got home & we barbecued hot dogs with onions & sauerkraut. Beans. Some more cerveza & swims.

The Sox won which is always nice especially over the NY-ers,

The sun set & the skeeters came out for the all-they-could-eat buffet of Patty & Bill. S1 left right after the game for greener pastures & away from the old folks.

WOW.

This turned into quite the report.

So 7-11 was an eventful & pwitty good day.