The Piano Men

 

It's time we discussed the 1923 Banana Club. 

The 1923 Banana Club, or "Banana Club," as the locals call it, is a lounge/bar/music venue in downtown Texarkana Arkansas. The place got its name because it was in the basement of the Central Market back in the day. Produce from the trains (across the street) would come in and be stored down there. There are still the hooks where the bananas hung, lodged into the ceiling. 

Down those steps. If you know the code
(and have reservations) the entertainment is yours. 

The place is fashioned as a speakeasy, with the front entrance down a staircase and a secret code to enter. Allegedly this code is on their Facebook page, but I have yet to find it. Once inside, there's a small lobby--think the size of a modest walk-in closet--with a sliding door, letting patrons into a venue which probably seats 75. 

The vibe is secret hideaway meets frat party. The place is decorated with paraphernalia that might have been found in a speakeasy from 100 years ago, along with a ton of historic explanations. Most nights there's music--and there's a lot of great musical talent in the Ark-La-Tex area, which makes up for the terrible service (it's always terrible). The place is owned by a man I've never seen sober. I've often wondered if this is part of the act or he just has a bionic liver. But like most places around town, terrible service and inebriated owners don't define the experience. Nor does it lessen the fun. 

I took this picture Saturday night. Though you can barely make out anything with the lighting the way it is, there are instruments hanging off the wall. The lighting always looks like this.  

Saturday night a few of us went to see the Two Pianos guys who played for three hours (minus a 15 minute break). The audience sang along while they performed everything from Baby Got Back to the requisite Sweet Caroline. They took requests and nothing stumped them. 

One of the musicians happens to be married to our newest Corona. We sat in the front, which might have been a mistake for poor Debbie*, who was picked on all night by the two. Given this is the Bible Belt and they are part of the Church of Christ music leadership, the pianists were much more lude than I expected. 

Fortunately for them, the audience laughed--even Deb who was a great sport about everything. However at the end of the night, they did offer a public apology, pointing out they would be seeing those of us who sat at our table in church in a few hours. Another private apology followed before we left--this dude was sweating bullets!--along with a third apology the next morning before church. 

I'm still laughing. And honestly, so is everyone else. In fact, Deb was so popular, two guys who were about the age of Buckaroo came up to our table and invited Debbie to Wataburger on Stateline because she seemed like such a good hang. 

"You could be my great grandsons!" she exclaimed. 

"So are you coming?" they asked. 

She didn't. 

*To give you a snippet about what 70+ year old Church lady Debbie the Queen of Everything endured for hours Saturday night, after church yesterday I ran into Deb who wanted me to go to a bible class with her. I never go. She pushed. And then I said, "That song we sang a minute ago, wasn't it in the key of D? As in D for Debbie does Dallas?" 

She gave me a playful swat and said, "Bye. Have a good Sunday." 

Normalcy

With the Sunshine's plans in limbo for the moment, life in these parts has taken to a peaceful stasis. That's such a relief on the ol'e endocrine system. I'm personally hoping the more time goes by, a decision to stay for a few more years can be discussed. But I'm not optimistic as much as I am wistful. Marty could land a job at any time and change the trajectory of this bliss. Whatever the outcome, I'm okay. We are where we are for now. 

Because things are calming down, I'm looking at getting back into the master gardener program. I didn't take a hiatus because of Marty's lack of job, I took one because I felt like I was juggling too much, too often, and with conflicting purpose. I like the master gardeners. I like that they promote plants and understanding in the community. The people are mostly fun and the information is valuable. I'm pleased to bring this back into my life.

Right now as I write this, Marty is cooking pad tai for lunch. Roosevelt is at my feet attacking an elastic hair band from Polly's collection. Leon is attacking Luna's swishing tail. Later this afternoon, the Sunshines have plans for frisbee golf, board games and watching Diamondbacks' baseball. 

I like this level of normal. 

Celebrating Sherman

Sherman's family is in town this weekend and it has been one big party bonanza. Though there's only six of them, their energy feels like 60. Make no mistake about it, they they are wonderful. Even Buckaroo*, who tends to be standoffish (I have no idea where he gets that from) is getting into the action. 

Though Polly had met Sherman's family before, she was beyond nervous for this weekend's festivities. who could blame her when her dear boyfriend sent her a text message with a detailed itinerary, giving times and locations for everything from a group walk around Bringle Lake to Saturday's workout. I was overwhelmed looking at the list, yet marveling at the level of detail he put into his text. Fortunately I'm not his girlfriend and I'm not expected to socialize non-stop for three days straight. 

However, the Sunshine family did have their level of obligations for the hurrah. We joined the Sherman Clan (and Polly) for bowling Friday. Marty doesn't bowl. My high score is 39. Lucky for me, I sprained my wrist earlier in the week** and wasn't ask to defend my title as Worst Bowler Ever--this is a competitive bunch. Buck did partake in a game or two. Mostly, Marty and I sat around chatting with Sherman's delightful folks.

Sherman's younger sister and husband live in Birmingham Alabama. Some sadist let it slip that might know something about Birmingham. Sherm's brother-in-law is hopped up to hear the story. However, I told him I'd need a beer in me and a half-hour to tell the tale. Brother-in-law hoped Friday night's dinner would be the time. Bro-in-law began to sit next to me at the restaurant, but Sherman's mother--God bless her!--shooed him away, deciding SHE would sit next to her new bestie. 

Saturday morning, Marty, Buck and I (Polly is house sitting for Tessa), found our way to the weekend's main event. Lieutenant Sherman received his promotion and is now Captain Sherman! I'm pleased he had a pretty big Texarkana crowd, given it was a holiday weekend. We celebrated with him afterwards on catered Chick-Fil-A minis, chatting with everyone. There were pictures, and I was touched Polly was included in several. Sherman even wanted a pic with the Sunshine family! 

There's a bunch of other events today. But I'm staying home. I've already slipped into my sweats, gone to Lowe's and bought plants, and worked on my latest woodworking project. The Sunshine's presence is requested for dinner tonight. I'm psyching myself up to share the Great Alabama Tale, and looking forward to another evening of laughter and new friendship. 

Captain Sherman's Promotion Ceremony

*This is the first time since Buckaroo got this job 18 months ago, that he took time off from work. On a holiday weekend Saturday, no less! 

**Valerie and I were walking around downtown Wednesday morning and I tripped on the uneven pavement in a grand flourish. I managed to fall in two states because this happened on Stateline Road. Val did what any good friend would do, after figuring out only my dignity and wrist were injured, she laughed. Fortunately I got up before she could capture the moment and post it on all the socials.   

Pivoting

My mood

Well, here's a fine how-do-you-do? The house two doors down from us, which was for sale for $50,000 more than we were planning on listing our house for, just lowered their price to our rock-bottom price sales price. The house two doors down is bigger, has a third garage bay and a fourth bedroom. So, it would be like comparing apples and scissors. 

Marty jokingly suggested we buy the house two doors down, move in so we aren't so crowded, and make ours into a rental. I'm all for it. 

Anyway, we aren't going anywhere right now. We are leaving, just not right away. Of course life can change AGAIN at any time. But, whew!  

Petty Suffering in Introvert Hell

During my time in Texarkana, I'd successfully avoided the Church of Christ's Tuesday morning's lady's Bible class. Until Yesterday. I know my time here is almost over and I wanted to see if maybe, I'd missed out on something. 

I had and I hadn't. 

I knew 99 percent of the attendants by name. One hundred percent of those around me were positive and happy, gracious women. I love that about these people. They are truly beacons of light and joys to be around. 

This week happened to be Deb's turn to lead the class. She started by commenting that I showed up for the first time (because she made me) and knew the Scripture better than most everyone there. She isn't wrong, but I didn't want to show anyone up. Instead, I announced I was only there because Deb said I had to go and today I planned on practicing my best, "Southern Talk." You know, "Oh my!" "My word!" "Dear me!" "Heavens."* 

I should also like to point out that today's topic was Second Timothy Chapter 2, which is the best example of the pious Catholics walking among us who like to declare that proclaiming their personal petty martyrdom for the rest of us to relish in is akin to holiness (it isn't). I promise, a lot of my good story fodder comes from those who take Second Timothy Chapter 2 out of context. But that wasn't the audience for me to share this publicly. 

And to be fair, that's not what the rest of the ladies got out of today's class anyway. 

Here's where it got interesting. I was naïve in thinking that a one hour Bible class ended after one hour. Oh no! That's the warm-up. The Bible class is the gateway drug to fellowship. In this case, all 13 of us heading off to a leisurely lunch. I tried backing out of it (shooting eye daggers at Deb for neglecting this tid-bit, though come to think of it, "If two or more Church of Christ members are gathered, there is food."**). However, fun Corona Suzy nudged me to the restaurant and sweet (non-Corona) Sharon and I bonded over our hatred of mayonnaise and eggs, so I had to make a showing. 

Unfortunately, lunch lasted another two hours and I was ready to kill someone. As an introvert whose day was rearranged, it was best to smile and keep to Southern Talk. Thoughts of putting my pious Catholic suffering into practice came back as I suffocated under the love and fellowship of these great ladies. But honestly, THREE HOURS??? Out of my home! Out of my sweat pants! Away from my garden! This is hell on an introvert, whose biggest plans for the day included working on edits and petting the dog. 

Will I go back? I don't know. There's only a handful of classes before they break for the summer and I doubt I will be here come fall. However, in the event I ever decide to attend another Bible class, I'll be prepared for it to take all day.  

*"Bless your heart," that old reliable saying, would have been taken out of context in this situation. 

**Corona Gail says this often enough there's no disputing it. 

Saturday Morning with Tessa

 

100 percent accurate

In my second venture into the real world after this awful illness, I met with Tessa Saturday morning. Tessa, you might remember, was my real estate agent when I moved here. I worked for her for six weeks. As a consolation prize for hanging out in her office and dealing with the unholy shrews totally delightful women who worked there and welcomed me with open arms and didn't sabotage me a teensy bit, Tessa introduced me to the Coronas. 

Tessa also happens to be besties with Her Majesty, Queen of Life, Deb (who really is a true delight, unlike the majority of Tessa's horrible agents). Also for the record, Tessa is also pretty awesome and I really like her. 

Anyway, Saturday morning, Tessa needed to vent about her real estate woes. I listened like the friend I hope she considers me to be. Unfortunately, I understood everything she was talking about. The antics of her clients brought back enough PTSD that I have zero interest in ever thinking about selling houses again. EVER. Every story of clients thinking Tessa was some sort of concierge, lawn service (the woman is in her 70s) or dog babysitter made me laugh as I commiserated with the nuttiness of her situation.* **

When she finally breezed through all that, she looked at her phone and said, "I'm going to have to go in about five minutes." 

I countered with, "That's just enough time to tell you that you are listing my home in early June. And please let me be the one to tell Deb." 

Tessa wasn't surprised, but she was surprised if that makes sense. I've been alluding to this particular thing for months. Even Deb won't be totally surprised. (I did tell Tessa the reason Deb hasn't heard yet is I don't want to deal with the Deb-guilt. Tessa said, "Good luck with that."). Honestly, nobody should be surprised, though my pal Joy--who is my first local friend to get this news--took it pretty hard yesterday. She raised a leery eyebrow and asked, "So, you are saying you are moving in a year or two?" Um... no. 

Anyway, Tessa wanted to come over and "evaluate" what needed to be done. No deal. I told Tessa we have four adults, two cats and a senior dog living under one roof. Our house looks like we have three households and feline chaos living there. Before Tessa comes over and tells me to move a table to the other corner, I need to find the other corner. Unless she's got a buyer wanting a 20 year old starter home in Wake Village and will give us a long escrow, sit tight. We'll meet up again before she lists it. Maybe by then she'll have saner real estate stories to share with me. 

*Note to anyone thinking of buying a house: unless your seven year old is on the mortgage, he doesn't have a say in the property. Thank you very much. 

**Note to anyone thinking of selling a home: if your real estate agent says, "this cash offer is a good deal and you should consider it," please do and don't blame your agent if the next offer is $40,000 lower, takes a month to get, and is in line with the current market prices. 

In Other News

 

We're moving this summer. 

I don't know when or where exactly, though we have a few areas in mind (it will be somewhere in the Orlando area). No. Marty doesn't have a job at this time. But he's now concentrating his search to Orlando area and remote jobs.

It took some convincing that buying was better than renting with two cats and a senior dog, but I've managed. Today I spoke with a loan officer and started the preapproval process. Because of Marty's retirement, this is an option without him having current employment.  

This week, Pete the Painter came by and painted our outside trim. I also had him freshen up the bathrooms and the front door. Those were painted early in our time here  by--I'm not making this up--six meth-heads who camped in our home for four days. 

I plan on breaking the news to Tessa soon. She's going to be listing our home. When? Not sure. We can't list our house until we can get rid of about 60 percent of our personal belongings--some of which will be stored in Uboxes (like everyone's personal desk). After all, the house has to look like four adults, two cats and a dog can comfortably co-exist without tripping over everyone's stuff.  We have another teensy problem, we are expecting thunderstorms for the next two weeks and we can't get Uboxes delivered here (they come from Shreveport) until the rain subsides. This is life in East Texas. 

After I finish my edits for The Redeemed (coming later this year), I'll start working on filling the thrift stores with items to repurpose and posting all over Facebook Marketplace. But, that's next week's issue.