You would think I could handle a crying woman by now. But no. When Phyllis, my high school sweetie, began crying, I felt the vague need to DO something. "What?" ran through my mind. She composed herself and I moved closer, putting an arm around her in a friendly hug. I smiled at her and in the general direction of the crowd of forty or so complete strangers who stared back at me. In a moment, Phyllis spoke. She introduced me to the crowd and told them we had not laid eyes on each other in more than forty years. (Way more.) Then, she ushered me around the room, introducing me to each person in turn. I smiled, repeated their name and shook hands when appropriate. I felt a little awkward, but got through it and accepted a plate piled high with delicious German food. Germans settled this part of Texas and it shows. Beer and good food are everywhere. Music, too. Finally, I felt I knew what to do. I began stuffing my road-weary face with the sausages, sauerkraut, beans and other delights. I chatted with my neighbors at the table as I ate. It turns out the group belongs to a Pen Pal club. That is how they know each other. It is similar to blogging, only more egalitarian. I think they rely on email. In any event, Phyllis brought them all together for possibly the first time. They came from many states and from more than a thousand miles away. They knew each other, nonetheless. It was a family in the best sense of the word.
I resurrected at dawn. I know it was dawn because the rain was glistening in the low sunlight. I met Phyllis in the lobby. She wanted to show me some of the local beauty and twisty roads. She had an automobile. I agreed to ride along. I needed to dry out.
We wound along the road for a long time, chatting about our lives as we went. Phyllis has overcome challenges that might have destroyed a lesser person. She organized the pen pal club to serve people far less fortunate than almost anyone who reads (or writes) this blog. She is a kind of Mother Teresa of the Hill Country. Who knew? I was profoundly impressed with her sweetness and devotion to helping others. My own efforts seem pale in comparison. Heck, my efforts seem pale on their own.
After an hour or so, we sped south toward Medina on Hwy 173. The road lay among rocky hills, steep and close together. We twisted and climbed and turned sharply to stay on the pavement. I have GOT to go back after the rain stops and do this right - on my bike. Eventually, we arrived in Medina. The single attraction there is "The Apple Store." The town is 200 yards long, I guess, but there must have been 100 people in the store. They sell everything apple, including trees. Me? I bought apple pie and ice cream. Phyllis had a soda.
After Bandera, we wandered back to Kerrville, arriving in mid afternoon. That evening, I returned to the Lady Bird Park to dine with the pen pals one last time. There was a band and a Bar-B-Que dinner and a drawing for prizes at the end of the evening. I won a large book devoted to planning romantic weddings. Chilling. It was a wonderful evening. Phyllis and I talked about working together on some projects.Perhaps we shall meet again before another forty years pass.
I returned to the hotel, fully spent from the day's activities and went directly to bed. At first light, I would begin the 300 mile ride north. I began to miss the Hills before my eyes closed for the night.
