From the East Wing, With Sophia On the Campaign Trail, The Waffle House From Hell, Flowers & Full Moons, A Cowboy’s Prayer

Greeting to all and welcome to all new visitors to the East Wing.

Seems like I can say pretty much whatever I want to say, just as long as everybody’s informed ‘bout Sophia The Republican Cat. A couple weeks go by and I go to Roswell and tell the story. I get some emails telling me nice things ‘bout my writing style. A friend of mind said “ I felt I was riding with ya as the road fell away and you drove down into Magoffin County”.

I get lots more emails asking ‘bout Sophia, wanting to know is she ok, is she ill, have the 2girldogs chased her away, has she died, did she run away, am I ever going to talk ‘bout Sophia again and if so when.

So now for all you Sophia Fans near and far I’m please to say the cat’s well and continues to hold court in the East Wing. She’s been most busy with the midterm elections and I don’t see her nearly as much as before Labor Day. We all know the real campaigning starts after Labor Day. Even though the political types want to campaign all year long, every year, every day.

In typical Sophia fashion, and with her persistence of goal, the cat’s now become the official Spokes Cat for the National Tea Party Movement. Sophia considers this to be her most cherished honor. She travels far and wide speaking in support of the Tea Party Agenda, all the while translating into nine different dialects of catenese. Did ya ever notice how seems everything cats do tends to be in units of nine, like languages spoken, lives and stuff like that. Even cat food, 9 Lives.

Sophia’s made both friends and foes along the way. She’s endured the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. And ya know what, as this election draws near the cat’s digging in and seems ready to make a final push to ensure her point of view prevails.

I expect that by next week she’ll have a whole lot to say just before we all vote on our collective future. I just know Sophia’s in full campaign mode when I check in on her after she’s fallen asleep at night and she’s snuggled up to her autographed photograph of Herbert Hoover. It’s easy to see Sophia’s confidence building every day, as she continues to do her part for her party. As all indicators point toward an overwhelming republican victory on November 2nd , Sophia now struts around the East Wing like the queen she really is. I’m telling ya, the cat struts like one of the wrestlers from the old WWF. Damn Republican Cat.

Awhile back I said I don’t do Waffles and for sure don’t stop at the Waffle House. Well it seems a Waffle House Owner wanted to know why. And I’m so glad I’ve been asked the question, ‘cause that’s a story I’ve been wanting to tell for a while.

Now if ya own stock in Waffle House, or ya own one of those businesses, I’m sorry, but here’s just the way it happened along the way when February had arrived right on time at midnight but had yet to see the first light of a new February morning.

Johnny and I had driven all night to get to Georgia, and somewhere in the darkness, well past midnight I started to get hungry and didn’t want to take the time to stop. We needed to be in Georgia as soon as possible, me and Johnny, we just needed to be there as soon as possible. As the miles rolled by so did the signs along the way promoting the virtues of a business called “The Waffle House” After many hours of travel and no food, the Waffle House started looking so much better. But the real deciding factor, Johnny too started thinking the Waffle House..

It was cold that first morning of February when daylight had not yet come to Resaca GA as we, Johnny and I, walked into the Waffle House from Hell. Looking back, several things should’ve told us to get back in the car and go away, but we didn’t.

The empty pickup trucks with motors running and gun racks loaded should have told us to go away, but we didn’t ‘cause those damn signs alone I-75 had lulled us into believing culinary treats beyond our wildest dreams were ‘bout to be bestowed upon us. And we were ready to be bestowed upon, so we crossed the threshold.

It was a little surprising that so many people were in a Waffle House so early in the morning before daylight, but it’s Georgia, maybe the locals get up real early and go out for waffles. What was even more surprising was the fact that Bubba & Earl didn’t have on any shirts, just bibbed overalls and shoes with no socks. Just setting there, drinking coffee and looking at us. Earl had a toothpick in the right corner of his mouth and Bubba did too. They didn’t even take the toothpick out to drink coffee.

As we entered to door all eyes turned to greet us, no, not to greet, to inspect us. Being on public display so early in the morning inside a Waffle House in north Georgia after driving eleven hours in the darkness of night goes a long ways toward building one’s self esteem and confidence in your ability to face the other challenges the day will bring. We were ready for the challenges, it’d been a long night.

As we walked the full length of that Waffle House all heads turned and eyes followed as we seated ourselves on the last two empty seats at the counter bar. She came over and said “yallwantcoffee” I said yes, she said “regularerhouse” I said house, she said “wantaspoon” I said “do I need one’ she said “suredo”.

When the coffee arrived I discovered the purpose of the spoon, the house blend is consumed only when it’s strong enough to hold the spoon in an upright position . It was the first time I’d ever had lumpy coffee, it took some getting used to, but the spoon stood up nice. Placing the food order seemed to go well. Two eggs over easy with bacon and toast for me along with a glass of milk, and waffles for Johnny didn’t seem too complicated for a business that specializes in breakfast food.

The real surprise was what was brought to the counter. The eggs were not over easy, they were not well done, they were not scrambled, they were roasted, roasted to the max. The bacon was not medium, not medium well, not well done, it was not crisp, the bacon was black. The bacon was carbon on a plate. The coffee and the bacon were of the same color. The toast seemed unusually light, but then again I’m comparing it to the bacon.

The milk was the right color, however, with my first taste I was shocked by the realization that this milk was very close to the temperature as when the original manufacturer produced it. I dared not let my imagination wander down those lanes, knowing full well this glass in my hand could be a whole new meaning to the term “Fresh Diary”.

When the server came over and asked “howseverythinggonigfya” I commented ‘bout the light color of the toast, she took one look and said Ithinkheforgorettotoastthebread,I’lltakeitbackandmakeemtoastit” I said the toast was ok, but the eggs were not right, she said “themsernotovereasyarethey? I said they were the same color as the bacon she said “yourright,yessirrie,they’rethesamecolorforsure,youlikeemthatwayornot? I said not, as I started to eat my breakfast form hell, too hungry to complain any further. I never saw an egg bend before.

Johnny’s order was less complex and as such much less chance to get it wrong. It’s hard to mess up a waffle order unless ya cook it too long. Johnny’s waffle was cooked too long. I think they must’ve cooked Johnny’s waffle and my bacon the same amount of time, maybe in the same device. Don’t know if my bacon had little squares on it or not, it’s hard to see black on black. Under normal circumstances ya’d expect to be able to eat a waffle with only a fork. Johnny’s waffle was served with a fork, butter, syrup, a steak knife. This was not normal circumstances, Johnny needed the steak knife. When we went to the cashier to pay our bill, a most pleasant surprise, she said

“Idon’tthinkweservedyouboysgood. I'mgonatake25%offyourbillrightnow”. And she did. The background music was dueling banjos as we walked into the dark cold early morning, that first day of February, 2010. As we walked to the car, I’ll swear I though I saw a cow tied to a utility pole behind that Waffle House.

When Johnny drove back onto the interstate, he wondered what kind of discount we would’ve received if we’d complained ‘bout our food. We still laugh ‘bout the waffle house from hell, Johnny and me. The more I think ‘bout it, I’m almost sure the cow was tied up to that utility pole, back there behind the Waffle House.

Ever hear of the “Bride of the Sun”? Why it’s none other than the Marigold. It’s October’s flower. Those yellow, rust, and gold colors of the marigold just seem to yell OCTOBER ! loud and clear to me.

I like marigolds, I think they’re pretty. Some don’t like ‘em because of their smell, and they do, but oh well, most everything smells, even people, and some times that’s a problem too. I remember my dad used to always plant marigolds with his tomato plants, kept those big green tomato worms away.

That reminds me, ya know that thing on a tomato worms butt that looks like a stinger. It’s not, but the ole tomato worm hopes ya think it is so ya’ll leave him alone and let ‘em eat all your tomatoes. Damn worm, tricking people like that, must be a republican like the cat.

Seems I remember when I was a kid there was some kinda remedy for toothache using marigolds, but I don’t remember if ya ate ‘em or just smelled ‘em. Either way it probably didn’t work, or else we wouldn’t have so many dentists around. I read somewhere if ya dream of marigolds that indicates happiness in marriage, prosperity, and success. Now I don’t know ‘bout you, but I’ve yet to have my first dream ‘bout marigolds or any other flower for that matter. But if I do, I'm sure I'll let ya know.

The October Full Moon is called “The Full Hunter’s Moon”, it was last Friday night the 22nd , and is always the first full Moon following autumn’s Harvest Moon. I thought ‘bought stargazing Friday night, but the moon was too bright and there were lots of high clouds. So I just watched the moon go in and out of the clouds for a while and enjoyed the cool crisp air of October.

Ever notice how every once in a while how something just grabs your attention and won’t turn loose. Well several days ago I was reading emails and that’s what happened.

A friend wrote “BobbyRay, now that you and Johnny have been out west and almost rode a horse, I thought you might enjoy reading something I find very special.”

This is “A Cowboy’s Prayer” by Jeril Morton from Gans, Oklahoma

Lord, I know grown men don’t cry. But Lord, when I pulled the saddle off Ole Bill and saw that the girth had left a print deep in his side, I had to fight hard to keep the tears from falling.

Then I knelt down to rub Bill’s leg and found d mesquite thorn deep in the muscle. There was a cactus thorn too. But Lord, I didn’t feel Bill flinch, not once. He carried me 50 miles today, and took those yearlings back without me giving him a single command.

But Lord, when I saw the hole in his leg and the dried blood where a yucca plant had jabbed him, I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer.

Lord, I ask you to bless Bill and me, and take the pain away from Bill’s leg. But Lord, if you have only one blessing left for today, give it to Bill. He means more to me than anything I own on earth, and I love him.
Thanks, Lord, and amen.

Stay safe in Afghanistan

From the East Wing, With Sophia On the Campaign Trail, The Waffle House From Hell, Flowers & Full Moons, A Cowboy’s Prayer

I wish you well,
BobbyRay