GYPSY LUNA AND THE BUS DRIVER

GYPSY LUNA - My story

Standing in line at Dollar Tree, with my toilet paper and The Works being rung up, a tall broad shouldered balding man in gray t-shirt, wearing white ear plugs,

quickly stepped up beside me to be next in line.  I looked at him with a grin and said, "Shouldn't you be over at Staples?"

He looked surprised, and said, "How'd you know I worked at staples?  I've never seen you before in my life."

I chuckled and said, "I've never seen you before in my life either.  But...they do call me Gypsy Luna."

He was gobsmacked, did the foot shifting dance with raised eyebrows.

I'm guessing he forgot he was wearing a shirt that read on the back "Staples Employee".

BUS DRIVER - John's story

Second day of school always has it challenges for a bus driver.  This year there were changes due to seat assignments, adding kindergarteners, and tier switches.  Two tiers means first route run picks up all elementary students separating them from the high school students which are picked up on the second route run.  Single tier means all ages get picked up on one route run.  It's been two tiers for John for 3 years.  This year changed to single tier. 

My hubby, John, was coming to the end of his run when he saw several bobbing heads behind the green seat backs.  He said, "I got on the mic and asked how many students do I have, raise your hands."  I should only have 2 but 5 hands popped up!

Four of them were easily resolved.   But one little girl came up to him, and he asked her, "Who are you?"  He told me she looked like Sadie, but she wasn't. 

"I'm Sarah."

"I don't have a Sarah on my bus."

"I'm standing right here," throwing out her arms. 

And she said, "Sarah.  Mae.  Harris.  My mom said if I get lost to give my phone to the bus driver."  And she poked her phone at him.  

"It has my address how to get home."

Checking with the transportation department, looking at her phone, he discovered she lived 20 miles away, on the other side of the county!

It's Said In The Signs, Plethora of Good Times

 

The houses on Tybee Island reveal the punny humor of their owners.  It's our family thing to spy the house signs and blurt them out to each other as we cruise at stop speed on our electirc golf cart.  Stop speed, yah, right, LOL, at the most that can be 24 mph.   Don't fall off!

The first was my favorite, Sandy Feet Retreat.

Come to find out you can purchase a sign that reads, "Peace, Love, Sandy Feet" or a beachy colored plaque at the souviner shop that says,

"A litte sand between the toes, always takes away the woes."

I'm up for that.

We sailed by a gravel parking place on the left hand side that was next to a white picket fence that decreed, "Minnie Pearl Parking."  It was fun to observe that the clapboard house behind the fence was designated "The Blue Pearl", and it's companion guest house said, "Little Pearl."

I was surprised to see a small teal colored house with lime green shutters sporting a sign that read, "The Coral Cottage."  I've always thought coral was a pretty pinkish orange.  On second glance, maybe it does and they're referring to the color of the front door.

Then there was the house with 3 paddles affixed to the left side of it's front door.  We passed it on our right.  Each paddle had one word.  Read together they made sense, "Paddle, On, Inn".

Ian's favorite was "Go Away",  John's was "It'll Do"

We chuckled when we saw "Tybee Queen" and "The Queen Bee". I'm sure you get it, since you're reading this blog.

Second runner up for me was "Beach and Bubble Bungalow".  I'm all for alliteration, like "Sea Salt Solution."

One that really sparked my interest was "Saleabration."  What a strange word, I thought.

And there's a story.

As I drove the golf cart back to the Royal Palm Motel, a gentleman was standing at the edge of his property calling, "Sooki!  Sooki, come here!'  He was tall, about 235 pounds, gray-haired, and wearing tourist shorts.  I asked him if he lived here all his life.  

"No, I came for a vacation and it took me 16 years to get back here to live."

I asked about the name above the window on his shingled sided home, Saleabration.  

He replied, "Our name is Sale.  Well, originally it was De Sale but got shorten in colonial days when we immigrated here."

He loved visiting, "We used to live 6 houses down but my son keeps coming home from college and taking over the back room.  We were crowded.  This house was for sale and it was a mess and with my knees and hips I can't do the work to fix it up.  I had to hire it all done.  They've done a good job and they were fast, too.  I still have yard work to do.  That's what that pile is by your feet.  Sooki!"

Sooki, a little brown frizzy-haired terrior, was taking her time.  First, getting petted by others driving a gas golf cart, then sniffing along the neighbor's driveway, and exploring their trash before finally coming home.  Mr. De Sale wasn't putting up with her prevarication, 

"Sooki, come home, now!"

She came home.  I bid him good-bye thinking this would be nice to come home to for myself, and yes, with a little Sooki exploration first, please.

This photo is of a white 2 story beach house trimmed in light blue, 

covered in windows, 4 doubles on top,

and 7 across the first floor, with white picket fence, and lots of straggling greenery in the foreground.   Prominently displayed, the sign says, "Breeze Inn".

We breezed on by!

We were clad in swimsuits, carrying an orange noodle.  Our desitnation was the sandy shores

of the Atlantic Ocean not "Knot Kottage" or "Plethora of Good Times".

We'll drive back around to explore more after a good swim.

And yes, we intend to have a plethora of good times!

It would be "Pier Pleasure".

Tybeans Nature Includes Secret Gardens

The people of Tybee Island, Georgia, are unique, quirky, funky, off-beat and artistic.  The old timers are laid back and friendly.  The newcomers enjoy the don't-worry, and don't-fret attitude of the old timers.

All are the same, from the single mother transplant, to the rich couple move-ins, you can't tell 'em apart.  They all just want the slower pace of life and to enjoy an every day SWIM!

They love their puns, and clever signs.  They love their homes and their secret gardens, too.  

The beach colors, lime and peach, light blue and pink, burnt orange and cream, white wash every house and cottage and stilted home.

Their gardens are secret.  I didn't flly realize this the first two visits to Tybee.  This time it finally dawned on me that this aspect of Tybee is as much a characteristic as any of the other things.

Secret, tended gardens are a definite standard.  I tried to take photographs, but they never really do a garden's distancing and its privacy justice.  

And sometimes we would be going too fast on our golf cart for me to sway the driver into stopping.

Get that last sentence?  It was Tybean clever, "Going too fast on our golf cart."

Some gardens, like the one at St. Michael's Catholic Church,  traditionally display a statue of Mary, the mother of Jesus, behind lush vegetaion.

Others can be a delight that tease kids to enter and play, like the one with a red tricycle and a Radio Flyer wagon filled with planted flowers.  A black and white striped lighthouse beckons on!

                                

Then there's the one I almost missed.  It was secluded behind a black wrought iron filigree fence.  

When I stepped closer, and peered through with one eye pinched shut, I could make out the background.  It was a wooden slatted privacy fence with green shrubbery along the bottom and greenery growing across the top.  In the far back it looked like a Japanese tree shading a patio set.  Dark red brick lined a glassy blue pool with an ornate copper swan spewing water.   Oh, so very elegant, and private with a smidgeon of pride.

And that says it all.  Though Tybeans aren't after fame and notable financial success, they are friendly, and they will proudly show off their gardens -- just a little.

                                                  

Chirstmas or August? Christmas in August!

IT'S  CHRISTMAS!

No, it's not IT'S AUGUST!  

When we left on July 25th, I didn't realize we'd come back in August.  That was a mental shake-up.  We left Tybee Island, Georgia, to visit The Christmas Place in Gatlinburg, Tennessee.  We'd been there before with others on vacation, if we went again we had been given a request for lemon fudge, and we gladly used that as a reason to revisit. 

The Christmas Place is made up of at least 3 buildings.  One's Santa's Haus, if Santa's not availabe for whispers and wishes, he had to make a quick trip to the North Pole.  Another is Mrs. Claus Candy Kitchen and Sweet Shop where the fudge is creamy, the chocolates are sweet, and the decorations are full and lush and change yearly.  And, finally, the main building comprised of many departments is where it's at -- designer designs, 50's retro, and gnomes for Christmas.  

First room Rustic Pet, then the Nutcracker suites, Red Pick-up Truck corner, Black, Not Red, Plaid this year, Fluffy White & Feathers section, the rooms of Personalized Ornaments, and the forever staples of villages, lights, trees, and stocking stuffers.

Ian was lost.  Ian called John, "Where are you?"  

John answered, Ian wasn't enlightened, "Describe your surroundings."

Behind me I heard John answer.  He was staring at a 10 foot tall evergreen tree reflecting his face in 12 inch large shiny blue and silver orbs when he said, "Christmas.  Everywhere Christmas!"

LOL, how like a left-brain thinker.  I took the phone, "Ian it'd be best if you tell us by which door you're standing."

We found him in seconds.  He stood at the double wooden doors in a midst of Jack Frost's Winter Woodland Designs.  A glazed look, a turning body, "gave me to know he had nothing to dread" with his lit-up smile, "There you are". 

Before The Christmas Place, we'd spent the night at Black Bear Inn & Suites, Ian's choice.  So nice to have someone else settle decisions.  

And we'd ate at Crockett's Breakfast Camp.  Large wooden plank tables and benches of oak, walls of black skillets, hooks, and wrought iron tri-pods made up our seating area.  Back near the restrooms were blocked off walls like an entrance to a mine, a dirty white faux canvas tent, and many artifacts of the time anvil, antlers, yokes, horseshoes, and galvanized sinks.

The menu looked like a morning newspaper, inside headings made you laugh, "Hen Fruit (eggs)".

We'd made camp, now we're breaking camp.  Onward, ho.  This time it's to home we go.

                

Planter Legs, Buoy Tree, Photographs Leaving Tybee

Before we leave Tybee, while our swimming clothes are being washed and dried at the only laundromat, we take a walk to Kullman Park to sit a spell, absorb the ocean -- its misty smells, its endless sight and its seagull sounds.  We re-visit the jumbo anchor that rests there on the curve of the main thoroughfare.  

The laundromat shares a building with a Savannah Praline shop, why the name Savannah, I don't know, it should be Tybee, but their chocolates are rich, and sweet, and gooey.  The sign says, "Praline Parking, All Others Will Be Sent To The Furnace With All The Bad Eggs" a reference to Willy Wonka, you know.  You've gotta love their puny, down-home sense of humor.

As we leave we take one last jaunt around the island on our golf cart.  We have to return it before 10, fully charged, so we hosed the sand off the foot rest making sure nothing was left in the glove box or under the seat.  Sadly, as the Keeper of the Key, I had to hand it over to the owner.  But first, let's see what this tree is all about.

Nikki, who loves to drive, kindly pulled up to the tree of buoys so I could take a picture.  Well, the owner saw what we were doing and took his garden hose and stepped out of view.  Ah-ha, someone to question!  

"Do you say bü-ee or boi?"  I asked.  

He replied, "Bü-ee."

"Why so many buoys on your tree?"

"It's a 20 year collection, from North Carolina to Florida Keys to Louisiana.  I've probably collected over 3,000."

"Really!  That's impressive", and I look to see just how many are on the tree.  

He adds, "Mostly I just give 'em away."

As we're still leaving

our final tour takes us past the lifeguard stand mailbox, Spencer's favorite mini-camper "It's still there???" he exclaimed when we showed him the photo, and legs.

The Fish Art Gallerie used to have a 4 ft. cube cardboard box full of mannequin legs sticking up and out, all gangly.  This vacation the box is absent but we spied evidence along Jones Street....a floral pair of legs and a yellow planter of feet.  

And...we have left.  We've left the fence of whittled animal shapes where we ate at The Original Crab Shack, the house signs that say C Breeze, and Pelican Perch, and the food of fresh oysters, chicken souvlaki and dungeness crab legs.

We're on I-70 to Columbia, S.C. "and beyond!" 

But first a stop at Gatlinburg.

Do you know from where the name Gatlinburg came?

I'll give you a hint, he was a landowner and more,

but ne'er a seaman, he kept to shore.

And, we're keeping to shore, quite inland!  No more blue skies over blue seas, no more cries and caws of fish finds, no more ocean slapping waves, just a mental wave good-bye leaving all behind.

Swabby, the Greek, and River Street

 

Dear John, dear sweet uplifting John, he's always hungry.  He loves a three course meal.  And he loves eating out.  So first thing, as we tumbled out of bed, bleary eyed, and coffee groping, he says, "Let's eat at the Breakfast Club.  Ian and I ate there yesterday and it's the best coffee."

Notice I didn't eat there yesterday.  I was "sick" of eating out and "sick" of eating.  I stayed in our room puttering, munching on snacks we'd packed for the trip and on any leftovers in the motel room's fridge.  The time alone was okay, too.  After Ian's graduation and subsequent moving out 3 years ago, I find I'm getting a bit used to time alone.

"Okay, I'll go with you, but I'm not standing in that long line, I'll wait in the golf cart 'til you get close."  And it was a long line.  To me, you just eat, and go on your day, to John a long line of anticipation is rail track to gold.

Well, the blacked out windowed building with it's suede looking black banner sign, opened its doors and ate people 2 to 6 at a time, until it gobbled us.  We sat in a very back corner and watched our cook chop, flip, and serve up pancakes, sausages, and more.  The young skinny guy, had a beard and mustache, and wore a red bandana tied in back.  I told John, "He looks like a swabby off the deck of a pirate ship."   John smiled, he was sipping this great coffee, you know, "Arrgh, Black Beard would've hired him."  

The rest of the day was spent in Savannah to the west of Tybee connected by Highway 80.  We went to River Street.   River Street lies along the Savannah River coming from the Atlantic Ocean and going west to Augusta, Georgia.  This port was where goods were brought in, even slaves, and where cotton was exported.  One business took over The King Cotton's Palace to become The Cotton Exchange Tavern.

Another business, the Olympic Cafe, got its name from the nearby Olympic Cauldron, that carries a flame from the 1996 yachting event.  That's where we ate; a nod to Nikki who is half Greek where the cuisine is Greek...and delicious!  Nikki introduced us to Greek dipping oil -- olive oil, salt, and parmesan.  

Then it was off to the Five and Dime where nothing is a nickel!  But the souviners are unusual and it's my favorite shop.  We bought Jayden, our grandson, a small soft shark that when squeezed, a foot and leg comes out...JAWS!  Lilly loves my seashells, she listens for the sound of the ocean, so we purchased a tiny one with brown spikes and another one about the size of your palm, so she can exclaim, "Mommy and baby."

And then there was a requested stop from sis and Spencer, to buy cans of peanuts.  Spencer wanted a years supply of bacon and cheddar peanuts, and Mary wanted Georgia roasted.  We ended up purchasing 7 cans of expensive peanuts, all to warm the cocles of the hearts at home, LOL.

Leaving the cobblestones of River Street, we drove through Savannah to visit Olgethorpe Park, his statue stands in the center.  My father, David L. Leeman, (he always included the L for Leo his middle name) did extensive research on our history long before the internet and Ancestry.com and said a Leeman was a friend and assistant to Oglethorpe, so when in Tybee we go to Savannah to read about Oglethorpe and enjoy the Spanish moss hanging from the trees, the calmness of the atmosphere, the look of the wrought iron filigree of the haunted house nearby, and put a period to it all with a visit to the Espresso Gallery coffee shop.

No tea for we, Americans drink coffee!

It's a cozy little shop, jammed packed this day with drinkers.  Every table is different, every upholstered arm chair is cozy but none alike, some red velour, some naughehyde.  There's a conversation setting around a fireplace probably built in the 1750's.  Men with crossed legs reading a paper.  Married couple looking expectantly towards the coffee bar.  Woman sipping Chai tea and restraining her white haired terrier.  Tourists, with energy of excitement, barely sitting still in their seats browsing pamphlets and maps. College student studiously reading her book and ignoring me sitting nearby.  All are particularly quenching their thirst and enjoying the hominess of Savannah.

Home is where the heart is, right?  Though this is temporary, something in the soul says this was home.  

I do love this place, love to visit, relax, and absorb the atmosphere and its history.  But the call of home is starting to tingle -- tingle for my own conversation pit and my own coffee.  Maybe I can buy a coffee mug from Tybee and call it enough.  Enough for one more year, at least, smile and wink.

 

Sounds of Tybee, and To The Roof!

 

One of our first stops on Tybee Island, Georgia, was at Chamacos.  It was hot, we were thirsty, and their beach colored picnic tables of yellow, blue, orange and green with attached umbrellas for shade looked very inviting.  Jarritos was our choice and to me they tasted like the Orange Crush soda pop of our youth.  Ah, cold, wet, soothing.  CRASH, BANG, CRASH!

"Who's hurt?  What was that?" I looked around but no one else was looking around.  At first I thought the waitress coming down the white wooden steps with a serving tray had lost it!  Finally, and I'm pretending to be normal, I saw there were kids playing with a large Jenga set of wood blocks each about 3 inches square and 16 inches long, and their tower had crashed down.  Boy, did they made a disruptive, get-on-your-feet sound!

It's Spencer's fault.  For supper we opted for the Sundae Cafe.  Every year that we go to Tybee Island, we go to Sundae Cafe.  The first time we went Spencer got grouper.  He'd never had grouper before and it was so tasty we returned the next year and asked for our usual table.  Just for fun, we called the table in the left back corner "our usual."  Their grouper is lightly breaded, soft insides, with a umami flavor.  

The wait line down the sidewalk was long, our names were on the list.  When the young female hostess called a name 6 women of about the same age stood up, escorted by 1 man!  Intriguing, how I'd loved to ask questions about that little grouping.

Time for the lighthouse, up 179 steps to look over the Tybee world of expansive blue beyond waters, and summer cottages, and houses by the beach.  Ian said he saw a large moth up there.  "That high up?" I was surprised.

John couldn't climb.  His knee was still suffering, so he explored the first floor museum section to discover that Tybee is an American Native Euchee Indian word for "salt".  Also, read that a fighter plane and a bomber in 1958, a year after I was born, collided.  To save the crews they jettisoned a near 8,000 pound nuclear bomb somewhere near the shores of Tybee, never found!  Wow, another possible get-off-your-butt crash, bang sound!

From there it's to Fort Screven we go.  This coastal artillary post was named after a brigadier general of the Revolutionary War.   It was a free self-guided tour that included fun things like artifacts from a defunct amusement park and guns from previous wars like the long gun shotgun with a 2 inch bore and 9 foot barrel.  Then it's "Exit to the rooftop, folks!"

For more on the long gun go here:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Punt_gun

Salute the Captains, Dolphins, & Gelato

Nikki at Captain Morgan's side

Salute to the captains!  First, it's Capt. Morgan.  

As we sat in our booth at the Sunrise Restaurant we could see this bigger than life-sized statue of the captain wheeled out by bikini clad nymphs.  Of an evening, we knew he'd be wheeled back by bathing beauties.  John jokingly said, "What a life!"

During our last vacation my sister stood under the captain's arm for a Kodak moment, this summer Nikki graced Capt. Morgan's arm while I snapped a shot.  His left hand stabs a sword in the earth, and his right brandishes a hook.  His long black coat, his tri-corn hat bedecked with a Jolly Roger, and his peg-leg says he's a pirate.

Sure enough, wikipedia says the captain has a sketchy history of being a privateer, plantation raider then the owner, and finally governor of Jamaica.  

As for Captain Derek, he led the dolphin touring adventure.  It was a boat ride in the waves of Lazeretto Creek and out to Dolphin Bay.  They churned up the water by revving the boat which stirred pods of dolphins to show themselves, flipping in the water.  We got to see a baby dipping alongside it's mother.  

Captain Derek says if you're going to go online to give a good review of several stars , go to his website, but if you're only giving one star, please mistake him for Captain Mike's Dolphin Tours, LOL.  

As we rode his boat, Captain Derek and his mate pointed out dolphins at the prow or starboard side, asked questions like, "Have you been in the Atlantic Ocean?  You have now!", told details about dolphins swimming 20 miles per hour, and attaining 6 to 12 feet long, and spun yarns, particularly the Waving Girl story.  Towards the end, Captain Derek said, "We make a good team.  My mate never tells a lie, and I never let the truth get in the way of a good story."  I know, I know, that quote was stole.

Our boat, painted black with green dripping trails, was named Monster, but the one behind us was my favorite, with a gun on the nose and the name on the side, Spear It -- spelled S, P, E, A, R, a fun play on words.

The ride was $30 a person or so, depending on your group or age, so I had to laugh at a little boy so unconcerned with spray from the ocean or spotting a dolphin that he laid backside down on a boat bench, not getting his parents' monies worth, but lollying his head right, and swinging his arms, "Swim, swim, swim."

Before we embarked on Capt. Derek's Adventure, we had a double breakfast at the Sunrise Restaurant.

They brought us our orders which didn't look quite right but after we'd tucked in, they brought us our order again.  Man, were we stuffed.  They couldn't take 'em back 'cause of potential for germ transfer, so we ate hearty, we were lucky ducks!

At the beach Ian and Nikki about had an encounter with a Black Fin Shark just 15 feet away.  Someone else DID get a shark bite and was taken by ambulance.

Later that afternoon, we walked a board walk built over a pond where turtles live.  I mean lots and lots and lots of turtles.  Probably 30 right under us near the support posts, probably a 100 just below water's surface and plenty more coming up.  They came from under the bridge to the right, and from around the outcropping to the left, looking like little gray balls floating our way.  You couldn't see their bodies, only their brown and black heads with yellow streaks.  They were eastern box and bog turtles that pushed and shoved to get right under us.  Too bad we didn't have some bread or fish bait to share, but it did make Nikki squeal to see them all.

After a visit to the Parish Thrift Store where I bought sis some decos for her Harry Potter motif at school, and after a dish of Beau & Arros frozen yogurt, we walked the beach.  I had my first taste of gelato, a non-dairy yogurt. It was delicious raspberry, and tangy apricot - sweet, cool, and smooth.  So enjoyable while water lapped our feet, beachcombers left the sand, and the quiet of the dusky evening settled in for the night.

We were mateys' with a full day and a full tummy.  

"Arrgh, ain't it so, Captains?"

.

"Tybee! It's The Island Life For Me!"

 

Man-eating shark, John!

We've arrived.  This is it!   Tybee Island!  Where everyone's laid back, the shops are inviting, the fish are fresh, the fauna is intriguing, the air is breathe-easy, and the ocean waters call "Come-hither."  

Our bellies called, too.  After a wonderful night in the Royal Palm motel, which was recently renovated in aqua Retro Mid-Century, we voted to eat at Sunrise Restaurant.  Not only did the waitress visit with us as we ate our spinach omelettes, and pecan waffle, but the couple at the next table turned to say hello, as well.  

Later for lunch we'd eat at Sting Rays.  It has always been so popular that we could never get in unless waiting in line for a long time.  Today, we went early and got a table in the open-air dining area with plank wood floor.  The table was set with galvanized buckets holding condiments and a roll of paper towels.  Ian and Nikki savored their crusted blackened tuna steaks accompanied by sesame ginger sauce.  

This is the day we get our golf cart!  Yay!  

It's the only way we like to travel.  John in the back, "I get to relax.  You do the driving."  With me at the wheel, Keeper of the Key, the owner reminds us of the rules:  no driving on the highway, obey rules just like a car, everyone stay buckled, and only cross at stoplights.  This time it was an electric cart, not gas, so we had to plug in every night to re-juice.  

The owner of the motel kindly, and she was very kind in all ways, let us into the padlocked utility room to plug in the 25 ft. cord to the auxillary battery charger.  Every day we pulled in and out of our back alley parking spot next to the stinking, and I do mean stench emitting, dumpster.  No complaints, though, it was a hundred times more convenient than going back to the Tybee Golf Carts to re-charge every night.

And we're off!

At the Island Style shop, Ian and Nikki were looking for sandals, so John and I explored outside.  No sooner than we played in the mouth of a shark, did workers come along and caution-tape him off.  This giant gray roadside attraction with wide mouth exposing white teeth was made for kid play.  Too bad, we're not kids, but we did play, LOL.  As we drove away, we saw the workers giving Jaws a new paint job.

Turn the key, push the back-up button, give it some gas, everyone look left and right and behind, "All clear?" 

"Let's go!"

Trendals of fine hair in the face, dung colored hat blown off, all eyes alert for unusual sights, John and I show Ian and Nikki the little things we love about Tybee.

"Watch out, it's a manhole!"  Bump!

"Hey, you took that speed bump just a little too fast!"  Whomp!

"Turn here, I wanna see that girl pirate climbing out the window!"  Smack!

"Hey, you took that turn a little too fast, my purse spilled out!"  Tink!

"What was the name of that cottage?"  The Doozy!

"Which one is your favorite?"  "Go Away"

"Are you sure it's not Almost Heaven?"  Silence.

I'm thinking Seas the Day or maybe a moniker more personalized, Bays Treat Retreat.  No matter --

"It's the island life for me!"

Ian @ Sunrise Restaurant, Hi!

Nikki @ Sting Rays, Yum

"Onward, Ho! Through The States We Go!"

Beatutiful purple flowers surrounded a Smoking Gazebo just outside The Ramsey hotel in Pigeon Forge. The haze from the Great Smokey Mountains was in the background.  

In Tennessee they require smokers to be 25 feet from entrances, hence the accomodation of a place to sit and smoke, the gazebo.  It was very pretty with strands of light wound up and down the support posts.  This is our fist official stop halfway to Savannah, Georgia, a 12 hour drive.  It was early morning about 5 a.m. still dark out.    

I love that time of day, traffic has calmed, people are not around, unseen birds are singing up the sun, nothing needs immediate attention.

Nikki had disappeared.  When I went back to our room, she was gone, so I assumed she purchased another room because we all snored.  I took an investigative walk, talked to the cashier, went looking in the foyer, explored the pool area, and the business/computer room.  Checked the breakfast room and went outside to the Smoking Gazebo.  Back at the room to see if she had returned, John had disappeared!  Is Ian next?  Will I disappear, too?  Aliens!  I tell ya, I felt like I was in an episode of Twilight Zone where everyone disappears and I'm left to myself, LOL.

Come to find out, John'd noticed I was gone and went searching for me, and Nikki had gone to sleep in her car.

***

Three hours into our trip, crossing the border into Ohio, The Buckeye State, and then into Kentucky, The Bluegrass State, I find I'm meloncholy about leaving behind Indiana, Home of the Hoosier.

Soon, I know, Tennessee, The Volunteer State, will be our over-night stop.  Tennessee is called The Volunteer State because they sent 1,500 volunteers to fight in the War of 1812.  That's an amazing number of men for that time period.

The rolling green hills of Kentucky evoke feelings and produce memories that come crashing in on me like a bombardment of water balloons, "Wham!  Gotcha!"

The memories are numerous, they're heavy, they run the gamut from car trips of children games to entertain us, to historical sight seeings like Lincoln's birthplace, to grandma's house below Cincinnati, to every Kentucky state park vacations, to losses first of grandpa, then of grandma, and then back to my own family at home where I'm not, but where all is known, where the future is blooming in my kids and grandkids.

This sinking feeling sucking old memories through my mind is a thorough surprise.

Pushing them back, and figuratively, opening my eyes to the cloudy day, the sun is  finding holes and nudging breaks in the white fluff to shine through.  There's pine tree clothed hills, limestone carved to allow interstate building, a tunnel in which to honk, and old weathered barns that used to dry leaves of tobacco, a past livelihood staple. 

John, ever the uplifter, exclaims, "Look!  A bear!"  We all quickly turned our heads to see that he's pointing at a black and yellow caution sign, "It might eat me!"  What a goose.

Now, we're getting hungry.  

To Texas Roadhouse we go.

Through the Foothills Parkway, and beyond.  

"Onward, ho!"  

But first, this lookout oversees a deep valley of green, nothing but up and down mountains.  How can they call these foothills?  

"Stop! Let me take a picture."

Kentucky Foothills