I would guess somewhere around 100-150 people showed up for the Indian tacos, bake sale, silent auction and entertainment provided by the local homeschool 4-H group.
This is David modeling their firefighter t-shirts. People are always asking if they can get one so I designed a similar shirt just for supporters. Let me know if you want one. Or a hoodie.
As if all that wasn’t exciting enough, we had a rather severe storm come roaring through, dumping lots of rain and some pretty impressive hailstones:
My camera battery died so this was taken with my phone. That, my friends, is a hailstone on the brim of a hat. Can you imagine what it sounded like inside that big, metal fire station?
The hail beat the heck of the trees and left the ground littered with leaves and small branches:
It also took out its fury on my poor Prius. It’s hard to tell from these photos but here is the cracked windshield:
And a little glimpse of the dents which pepper the entire car. It looks like someone took out their frustrations with a ball peen hammer.
Other than my first car, a ’66 Mustang, this is the only car I’ve really felt much of an attachment to. I won’t deny that I’m sad about what happened to it but I keep reminding myself that it’s just a car and it can be fixed. To the tune of $5,000. We have full coverage but a $1000 deductible. Gulp. Oh, well.
I hadn’t eaten at the fundraiser and David didn’t eat much so he called *our* restaurant to see if they were still serving food that late – it was after 9:30 p.m. It’s good to know folks. The guy David talked to said he’d put in our order for us and so our pizza was ready when we got there 15 minutes later. A couple of slices of margarita pizza and a glass of wine made me feel a little better about the car. A little.
We then went to what I fondly refer to as my favorite smoky dive bar to hear a friend perform. The place is dark, a little tacky and very, very smoky. What it lacks in class, it more than makes up for in atmosphere. There’s not an ounce of pretension in the place and there’s usually some good people-watching. This time there was a man, probably mid to late 40s wearing very short, tight, stone-washed denim shorts. With cuffs rolled up and black tennis shoes. No, I’m not making this up. The woman with him was a bleached blonde, emphasis on “was”. She had fully five inches of very dark brown roots. But she was very friendly and acted like we knew each other when she walked by our table at one point.
During a break, Aaron (the singer) sent me a FB message which read, “That chick tipped me with a Xanax”. She told him she didn’t have any money so she would give him that instead. Well, guess that means he’s hit the big time.
After the live music was over, we all extended the fun with music from the jukebox. You haven’t lived ’til you’ve participated in a “Bohemian Rhapsody” sing-along in a bar with a bunch of drunk musicians (and others who can’t sing).
The bartender finally shooed us all out around 1:30 a.m. My car wasn’t any better but I was. There’s nothing quite like music to make you forgot your woes.
So that’s how we spent our Saturday in Small Town, Oklahoma.