Attacked by TurtAl Capone!

There IS a Turtle Mafia...I've got proof!

Many people think me paranoid because I’m convinced that there is a conspiracy afoot, led by the turtle I accidentally smacked into several years ago when I was out for a swim.  Immediately after that, I noticed that turtles started popping up wherever I was – just staring at me.  Coincidence, I thought.  Then I moved to a different section of the park, on a completely new lake, and within 10 minutes there was a giant snapping turtle heading towards me.  No one else ever had close encounters of the aquatic reptilian kind; but it got to the point that people on the beach would start looking for a turtle whenever I went into the water.

I even had a fortune teller tell me that there were a lot of turtles that seemed to surround me…..little did she know.

I have been here for two weeks so far and was very surprised that I hadn’t seen a turtle yet.  To be honest, it’s probably because I haven’t been swimming that much.  I thought that TurtAl Capone – the capo di tutti of the turtle mafia – had decided to end his vendetta against me.   I was wrong.  On Sunday I was sitting on the beach and a very tiny turtle popped out of the water, slunk around a canoe, peered over at me and high-tailed it for the reeds.   Blissfully ignorant of what was to come, I swam across the lake but I had an eerie feeling that I was not alone.  When I made it back to the beach, I put my foot down to make sure I was in shallow water, and stepped on the biggest turtle this lake has ever produced.  That’s right…. TurtAl Capone was directly under me and probably had been the whole time!  That little runt of a turtle was probably one of his enforcers, come to check on my whereabouts and report back to the godturtle.

Maybe smacking a turtle is a type of foreplay and he thinks we’re engaged.  Or perhaps it’s the worst insult you can do to a turtle.  Either way, I’m doomed.

Poplar Bluff....

Because of thunderstorm and high wind warnings, we decided to head north to the town of Poplar Bluff, Missouri and booked a site for 2 nights at the one and only RV park in the area.  Upon arrival, we were greeted by a very unkempt man in a dirty undershirt who told us to follow him to our site.  Now, this may be the local hot spot for camping in summer, but in April there were exactly 3 other campers there.  So where did Billy-Bob take us?  To a lot which left the RV at an upward tilt and the car at a 45 degree angle in back.  I could hear the poor tow bars groaning in protest.  He then proceeded to give us an in depth lecture on how to plug into the electrical box and turn on the water.  Maybe these were new-fangled modern improvements for him and he wanted to make sure we furriners knew how to use them.  We gave him all our attention.

Naturally we told him we wanted a different lot and asked if we could just move to the next one over, which was level.  This threw the poor man into such confusion that he was barely able to function.  After a few minutes, he retreated to the office, to discuss the matter with higher authority.  He then informed us that we could not stay on the other lot for 2 nights, as requested, because someone else had already reserved it (why is anybody's guess).  I then asked if we could move to any other of the 100 or so empty lots in the park, and he lost it.  That required decision-making way beyond his pay grade.  So, we had to follow him back to the park office where we met the charming Lula-Mae.

Now Lula-Mae and Billy-Bob had a grand total of 6 teeth between them - all in varying shades of black, grey or green.  Lula-Mae was dumbfounded that we wanted to move.  Since the car and RV together total almost 50 feet, I suggested she let us have a lot on the flats, right next to another large RV.  She then told us that those large lots were reserved for big busloads of people who apparently descend on Poplar Bluff in droves at random intervals and without prior notice.  It remains a mystery as to why so many people feel the need to go there and sleep in buses, since we couldn't even find a restaurant within 5 miles of the place. It's almost certain they don't come for the dental work.  Anyhow.....

After checking with the park owner, she finally agreed to let us use the big pull-thru lot but she made it very clear that there would be "no more moves".  Billy-Bob then led us back there and gave us another run-down on how to plug in and turn on the water.

In the 2 days we stayed there, no other campers came in and we were not swarmed by busloads of people arriving in Poplar Bluff for an impromptu vacation of a lifetime.

Lucky for us, the weather cleared and we headed for Terry Haute, IN, where we were greeted with warm cookies and a petting zoo.  We won't be heading back to Poplar Bluff anytime soon.

Exodus

And lo, it came to pass that the great god of the tribe called Snowbirds – the allmighty US Internal Revenue Service – did decree that those wandering in the deserts of the southern US should return to their own country lest they exceed their 182 day maximum stay and incur the wrath of the tax man. And so, in March, the great northern Snowbird migration began.

We left on March 30^th, heading north to San Antonio.  Amazingly, in less than 100 miles, the drivers all stopped being psychotic, suicidal maniacs and the driving became quite pleasant.  Not a single one of them stopped suddenly and threw his car into reverse.  I guess that must be a Mission thing.

Notice the capris

Anyhow, the trip was uneventful although my teeth were on edge.  One of Tessa’s toys got stuck under a bolt near the driver’s seat and I endured 5 long hours of squeaking until we got to the Rv park.  I don’t know who makes those toys but I want those batteries.  They last forever!  We made a quick trip to Buc-ee's to gaze at their wall of candy and pick up dinner.  Yummmmm!

From there we headed to Tyler, and then Little Rock, which were non-remarkable, although we did get a good thunder storm in Arkansas.  In order to stay behind the line of storms we decided to head for Poplar Bluff, Missouri.  More on that later…

A Heart Attack In A Bowl

As a single person, I don't cook a lot.  In fact, my fridge is usually full of stuff to put on stuff that I don't have.

Well, here in South Texas, they've figured out what to do with all those condiments.  It's called "street corn".  It looks disgusting, but it is addictive!

First you take a huge bowlful of roasted corn, then you top it with a heaping tablespoon of mayonnaise (that's right....mayo!), then you add an equally large tablespoon of butter.  At this point, you can hear your arteries slamming shut.  Then, last but not least, you cover the whole works with parmesan cheese!  Mush it all together and there you have it.... a heart attack in a bowl!  And it's worth every calorie.

Try it - you'll like it.

Project Runway..... for the budget minded

Earlier, I mentioned about the Ropas stores - huge mounds of used clothing, piled to the ceiling, which sell by the pound.  If you wear your name badge (which, by now, we almost always remember to do), you get a discount.  You can buy a pound of clothes for 25 cents (that's $1.80 Canadian).

Although it wasn't immediately apparent to our untrained eyes, apparently these Ropas are a treasure trove of haute couture.  In fact, every year the Park has a two-hour fashion show, with the models wearing the gems they've found at Ropas - everything from nightgowns to ballgowns.  The most expensive thing on the runway was a full-length, fur-trimmed leather coat which cost $10.00.  I guess it was pretty heavy.

Delta Don is all his finery

Note the armpit hair

Not to be outdone by their wives, several of the men dolled themselves up too.... because you just never know when you're going to need a special outfit for one of the nightclubs around here.

Following the fashion show, we had a high stakes auction, with bidding going as high as two or three dollars.  I was going to bid on a hula outfit, but it turns out I already had one.

The Great Annual Thundermug Races are Over!

Another fun day!  And a little bit of deja vu too!

I could hear a lot of cheering and peeked outside just as a man sitting on a blue toilet seat mounted on a cart crashed into a crowd of people over near the rec hall.  The reason he crashed was because the person "driving" the cart was blindfolded and apparently didn't know his left from his right.  There must have been some Canadians in there because others were yelling "hurry hard"!!!

Teams of two took turns racing around a set of pylons.  I'm not sure who won - it was getting too cold to stay outdoors.

 This brought me back my youth. At Queen's University,
 they used to kick off the year with thundermug races on campus streets.  The racers were quite a bit faster but our crowd was just as enthusiastic!

There are going to be some very sore knees and backs tonight!

Hurry Hard!!!

OMG! I'm in the clutches of the Stepford Syndrome

As I mentioned in a much earlier post, there appears to be a dress code at RV parks:  women wear capris, cap-sleeved t-shirts and they cut their hair short and spike it up.  The only variation is in colour (capris, shirts and hair).

I've successfully resisted this for the past 3 years.  My philosophy has always been that if it's hot enough for capris, then it's hot enough for shorts.  And, if it's hot enough for shorts, then it's hot enough for a bathing suit and I head for the beach.

Well, they've worn me down.  I went to KMart the other day and, without even giving it a second thought, I bought 7 pairs of Capris!  I'm still resisting cap-sleeved t-shirts - mostly because the entire winter has been so cold.  I've even given some serious thought to cutting my hair!

Thank heavens we're heading home soon before the Stepford Syndrome really takes effect!

Meanwhile, Tessa has made herself right at home in the RV.  She's even learning to play cribbage.  It keeps her mind off eating, since we've put her on a diet.