One After The Other

We’d checked in here around midnight.  All I wanted was the keys and the direction of the elevator, but the professional young gent at the Peach Tree Corners Residence Inn, felt obligated to run through his routine spiel, and in doing so he mentioned that there were two breakfast places in the area, one you head out and turn right, and the other, the “Flying Biscuit” you head left for.  That name stuck. 

 

I could have cancelled these calls, but I went with my regular routine, in the annex of the suite we’d reserved for the night.  One call done I had an hour to kill before the next one.  Tired, uninspired, I got lost on the web and stirred myself in to action in time for the next one.  I’d been warned not to wake my daughter.  The only reason we were in Peach Tree Corners, Georgia and not some other section of Atlanta was my daughter’s good friend from Beijing lived here.  A waitress, she was off work at midnight, just about when we were rolling in, so my daughter and her hung out for a few hours into the morning. 

 

She had her own room and begn texting me around 10:00AM that she was ready to roll. Soon she, my wife and I were all checked out and on our way off to the Flying Biscuit.  We’d had biscuits and gravey yesterday morning at a breakfast place in Shreveport Louisiana.  And it wasn’t long before we had yet another friendly southern waitress delivering up grits and gravy smothered over a biscuit cut in two.  Two kids were playing with two women at the adjacent table.  The kid kept calling one of the women, “TiTi” which is the nickname of my older daughter.  I couldn’t resist asking her if her name was in fact TiTi, which she confirmed with a smile.  I explained why I asked. 

Just like yesterday I went out, across the street, drawn by a handsome oak tree that my Seek app couldn’t identify.  Later, searched for oaks of Georgia compared a few and discerned that this tree that I’d seen in Texas and Louisiana and now here was likely a Laurel Oak.  I’ll have to see if I can order one for our yard and see if it can survive the northern climes.

From Georgia we drove, aggressively north to South Carolina.  We were cutting through the western corner of the state with a vague idea of dining that night in Charlotesville and perhaps sleeping further north still in Georgia.  George Jones seems to have released at least thirty or more albums and I just played them one after the other, as we passed through South Carolina.  The state would appear to have very beautiful lakes.  The truck stops sell beef jerky and peanuts like all the other states do but when I was checking out I took a look at the decals they had, which included the memorable:  “If my flag offends you, I’ll help you pack,” and unwittingly I meditated on this for a while. 

Wednesday, 06/30/21