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Hello Texas. Sure is good to see you again.
--Hello Texas, Jimmy Buffett, Urban Cowboy soundtrack
I'm gonna take my baby with me. We gonna have a high
ol' time. We gonna eat till we get silly....I could eat the
heart of Texas. We gonna need some brand new jeans.
--Texas Cookin', written by Guy Clark, performed by George
Strait
"Where is home?" I pondered this question as I
watched the sun set behind Pozuelos Bay on the night before
our departure. Is home our boat, our floating fiberglass and
teak residence? Is home wherever the three of us happen to
be, an ever-changing domicile? Is home back in Texas, with
our families in the place where we grew up? Where is home?
It's a simple question for those who dwell on land, but harder
to answer when you're a sea gypsy constantly on the move.
Caribbean Soul was in the boat yard being prepped
for a paint job, and Dakota was in Los Altos as Quini's pampered
house guest. Two homesick vagabonds were ready to be with
family after a year apart, ready for hugs and kisses and good
ol' Texas cookin'.
For two and a half weeks we ate our way across Texas, starting
in Granbury near Fort Worth, then on to Palestine and Nacogdoches
in East Texas, and ending in Dallas. Cheesy enchiladas, sizzling
fajitas, stuffed jalapenos that make you cry, tangy margaritas,
spicy barbecue with all the fixins', charbroiled hamburgers
with fries, chicken fried steak with mashed potatoes and gravy,
chocolate cake, creamy vanilla Blue Bell ice cream melting
over a slice of warm pecan pie, strawberry shortcake loaded
with whipped cream, banana pudding, and lots of our mothers'
home cooking. Give me another helping and pass the Tums!
In between eating binges, our parents chauffeured us around
town to complete our lengthy shopping lists. We sent our MaxProp
off to PYI in Washington state for a rebuild. True to their
promise, they completed the work and sent the prop and a new
shaft seal bellows (see previous
log) back to us before we left the States. When the credit
card was finally returned to our wallet, we had filled four
bulging "cruiser suitcases" (old, disposable suitcases
used to bring back Stateside purchases).
The culture shock of being back in the USA was softened because
our parents all live in the countryside, surrounded by towering
pines, shady pecan trees, creeks, and rivers. We could sip
our morning coffee and watch squirrels and white-tailed deer
foraging for their breakfasts. Stress melted away as we enjoyed
a few weeks away from our responsibilities.
After a final weekend in Dallas, where we enjoyed seeing
old friends, it was time to return to our own life, claim
ownership of our dog, take care of our boat, and go on a diet.
The return trip went smoothly until the end. Much to our surprise
and relief, we breezed right through customs in Caracas. However,
when we checked in at Avior Airlines, they did not have our
return reservation to Barcelona. Trying to sort the problem
out with the helpful but non-English speaking airline staff
was frustrating.
A man working at a travel agency in the airport saw our dilemma
and came to our aid. He was probably the only English-speaking
Venezuelan in the whole airport. He helped us communicate
with the airline staff and even used his cell phone to call
our travel agent and taxi driver. He was yet another example
of the many wonderful people we've met in this troubled country.
At this posting, we're staying in an apartment while work
continues on the boat. In our absence, inflation has pushed
the exchange rate even higher to our benefit and the detriment
of the locals. Three cartons of milk are in the fridge, but
it's still hard to find due to the "international milk
shortage." Quini returned Dakota in good shape and spirits.
He enjoys long naps, harassing the marina cats during his
walks, and sneaking bites of cat turds when we aren't looking.
I'm still not sure how to answer the question "where
is home?" For now at least, I think it is a place in
our hearts, where family and friends and fond memories reside.
It is a place that we carry with us no matter where we travel.
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Backyard at the Chaney home in a pecan plantation
on the Brazos River.
With Nick's parents, Betty and Carl
East Texas blacktop road shaded by pine trees
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