On the 2nd day of our vacation, my Mom and I loaded up my 2 little girls and flitted off to the charming city of Fredericksburg, Texas, to spend the day shopping and eating and doing all sorts of non-Ranchy girly stuff.
The day had started off very well, but as it wore on, I noticed that my Mom was acting a little strange, walking slowly, turning down restaurant ideas even though she had skipped breakfast and it was nearing 1:00 p.m., and as I finally turned around to study her and make sure all was well, I immediately realized what had been the cause of her odd behavior. She had been harboring a surprise…
For there, walking toward us on the busy sidewalk, was my Aunt Bea, Mama’s sister and the closest thing I have to a second mother. Her 3-hour drive to Fredericksburg was much more manageable than her 9-hour drive to our house in Oklahoma, so she had loaded up early that morning, determined to spend the day with us and join us for a relaxing night on the Ranch.
We embraced and laughed and chattered about this sneaky plan (that apparently everyone had been in on but me), but the funny thing about our relationship with Aunt Bea is that, within minutes, we were shopping and mozying about as if we spend every minute of every day together. The 3 of us have always had such a bond, and few things make us happier than simply being in each other’s company.
We are also the living emodiment of Tweedledee, Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber, and spend most of our time together laughing at ourselves and/or each other.
Especially when we are out among our fellow citizens.
Our conversation immediately turned toward where we should have lunch, a discussion Mom and I had been having since we left for Fredericksburg. We so badly wanted to eat something heart-breakingly delicious, in a restaurant that was chock-full of cozy and inspiring ambiance…you know, somewhere perfect. Somewhere that would leave us full of longing and expectation for our next trip to the Hill County.
“So what do you think?…” Mom asked, looking down the street lined with quaint shops and restaurants and fudgeries and ice cream parlors.
“Uhhh…” I replied. “I dunno…I just want to eat somewhere really, really good.”
“What kind of food sounds good?” Aunt Bea asked.
“Hmmm…” said Mom. “Something really, really yummy.”
A morning of thinking, and we were still absolutely clueless.
“Let’s ask someone what they would recommend.” my Mom suggested.
A couple just happened to be walking out of the Brewery in front of us. My Mom hailed them. “How was the food there?” she asked.
“Oh, it was delicious!” the woman raved. “Really good.”
If you remember, “really good” was what we had been looking for, but, upon peering into the windows, we decided we’d rather not try it. It lacked ambiance and perfection.
But our stomachs were really starting to get hungry. We wandered down the street once more, pursuing something we weren’t even sure existed.
“Ugh!” I exclaimed. “I just don’t know what to do. Let’s ask someone else.”
“Yes, let’s…” agreed Aunt Bea.
Looking up, we saw a hefty motorcycle lady sitting on a park bench, smoking a cigarette.
“How about her?” my Mom asked an unsure look on her face.
Our heads nodded while our brains vehemently disagreed, but it was like we were no longer acting of our own accord. We had shifted into our signature Tweedledummy autopilot and were moving, as a group, into the land of no return (at least where our lunch was concerned).
“Hi…” my Mom approached her. “Can you recommend any good places to eat?”
“Oh, sure!” she croaked, pointing at a restaurant we had passed by numerous times. “I ate lunch at that German restaurant down the street. It was awesome.”
We smiled widely like we always do and exclaimed our thanks, as we said encouraging things like “that sounds delicious!” and “oh, great! We’ve been wanting some good German food!” and immediately began to walk in the direction she had pointed us.
We didn’t look at each other.
We didn’t talk.
We just walked.
Onward, Christian soldiers, too timid to disagree with a Motorcycle Mama, even though she was as kind and friendly as could be.
Did we ask each other whether or not German food even sounded good?
Did we discuss whether or not we should seek out anyone else’s opinion?
Did any single one of us express our mutual reluctance to enter in to the place where our feet were taking us?
Forward we trudged, obedient to our new friend’s opinion, unwilling to hurt her feelings by walking in the opposite direction of the place she recommended.
We got a table…
we sat ourselves down…
and we cheerfully perused the menu of German fare that we did not really want to eat.
If someone had drawn a picture of us, sitting around our table, blinking at our menus with smiles pasted on our faces, the thought bubbles emerging from our heads most certainly would have read “Duh…”.
But it gets worse.
By this point, my brain was so exhausted by the entire ordeal, and my mind was so removed from my body, I made our situation even more hilarious and ridiculous and inexplicably chose the most far-fetched item on the menu…
The “Texas Schnitzel”.
I have no idea.
I’m sure that this Tex-German concoction would be delicious to many palates, but the hot mess of schnitzel, guacamole, sour cream and melted cheese that soon sat in front of me was a far cry from what I had set my heart on that day, and I spent the next 30 minutes or so trying to figure out how to rearrange my plate to make it look like I had devoured my lunch rather than picked at it.
We were less than enamored, but regardless of our true opinion of the place, Mom, Aunt Bea and I continued to talk brightly and happily about our restaurant of “choice” and the “awesome food” we were “enjoying”, paid the whopping $50 check without batting an eye, and finally, rose and said “Auf Weidersehen!” to our lunch of madness…
But we laughed all the way home.
Which is, after all, exactly what Tweedledummies do best. Self-entertainment is our forte.
Coming up next…Selah Springs: The Cave