Elvis Rules

Civil Rights & Hip Thrusts

The Beignet Cafe, located on G.E. Patterson at the corner of Mulberry, may not look like much from the outside, but once you walk in the gated front door, you'll be pleasantly surprised.  This place is adorable. Our server, Latoya, has a wonderfully warm personality and Memphis pride we're coming to appreciate about the city's residents. She tells us a story about a former coworker who used to complain about the snail's pace in Memphis, how country the city was and that there was so little to do there. But Latoya and the other employees are natives, and they kindly suggested if she didn't like Memphis, she should leave.

We all agree ... Memphis is fabulous. 

We order cafe au lait and beignet that the girls say are just as good as those in New Orleans. The coffee needs a little sweetening, but otherwise -- I don't disagree. And it does the trick for brightening our mood ... if only it could have done the same for the weather.

Sadly, it's pouring when we get outside. Cats and dogs doesn't really do this downpour justice. It's more like lions and bears.

But I suppose the rain is fitting as we head over to the National Civil Rights Museum and the Lorraine Motel, where Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated in 1968.  The girls decide to stay in the car and keep dry as I hike my pants up, take my shoes off, and sprint for the door. Since the museum is slow due to the weather, I am greeted by just about the entire staff in the lobby when I arrive dripping wet. The museum is fabulous -- and thorough.  I'm most struck by the courage of those that fought so hard for their equality. 

I was glad the rain camouflaged my eyes a little as I ran back to the car.

Next stop ... Graceland. 

It really is difficult to describe how kitchy this place really is.  At almost $30 to get in WITH the coupon from the magic binder.  That means seeing the King's jungle room is almost three times as expensive as seeing the room Dr. King spent his final hours. That just seems wrong to me.

The tickets we get allow us entry into about six different exhibits, including the tour of the mansion. Nearly every exhibit dumps you into a gift shop.  This place is a cash cow, but I guess, in a way -- so was Elvis. He made Forbes Top-Earning Dead Celebrities list the past two years, most recently grossing $52 Million.  That's more than living artists, including Madonna and Justin Timberlake.

But I have to say, seeing some of the rooms in his house and looking over official Graceland recipes, money can't buy good fashion sense or taste in food.  Imagine ... munching on bacon-wrapped meatballs in a room entirely swathed in the ugliest fabric imaginable. 

A Rocky Start

It's raining when we wake up this morning with only two days left of our big adventure. We call down for a bell hop to get the luggage (the best $10 I've spent on the trip). As he's loading the bags onto the cart, he tells us we've forgotten something:

The kitchen sink.

Ha ha ha.

I swear this stuff is growing, and as I'm trying to pack it all in the car, the girls are tossing stuff into the mix willy nilly. There is a fine art to laoding this crap in so the door will still close, so I'm tossing stuff back at them. Grandma says get out the duct tape. Frankly, in an effort to maintain the peace, I might need it to tape my own mouth shut. We finally get it all in when the bell hop asks us where the other girls are.

This guy thinks he's a freaking comedian.

We've driven just one city block when Mom asks where the sleeve for her Blackberry is. Gram is poking around looking for it in the back seat while I deny responsibility as the last person to use the phone. After what Gram claims is a thorough search, she can't find it. I pull over to a screeching halt, jump out and start running in the opposite direction of the car screaming.

Just kidding.

That's what I want to do, but instead, I start tearing apart the back seat, throwing stuff on top of the car, including Mom's pillow. I don't think she's happy about it, but mercifully says nothing. After I get everything out, Grandma finds the sleeve in the seat pocket right in front of her.

I lay on the ground rocking back and forth in the fetal position chanting, "There's no Place like home ... there's no place like home."

Ok, fine. I don't really do that, either. I actually swear, get in, slam the door, and drive on toward the National Civil Rights Museum. I tell the girls I'm awefully tired of losing things. Mom says it wasn't her that lost the sleeve. She's totally right, but my owning up to it is not graceful. FINE, I say -- I lost the stupid sleeve. And the stupid camera. But they're both in the car now, so crisis averted.

Then out of the corner of my eye I see a place called The Beignet Cafe. How can hot greasy fried dough smothered in powdered sugar NOT make everything better?

Memphis On The Half Shell

Guess who got to sleep most of the day away while her mother drove across state lines fleeing the po-pos?

Ok, I'm kidding about the po-pos part. I curled up into the fetal position, which of course means my arse hanging way off the seat. If she would have stopped fast, I might have rolled off and been forever wedged in the back of the Rav-4 until they got the jaws of life to extract me. Dangers aside ... the napping sure felt good.

Why, you ask?

Because Grandma's snoring is something of mythical proportions. I swear, the rumblings in that woman's nasal passages are enough to wake the dead. I've taken the necessary precautions: pop a sleeping pill ... turn the air conditioner on ... put ear plugs in. Yet I still have to put my head under about two pillows to drown out the freight train sleeping in the next bed.

What's worse is that she has sleep apnea, which means I can't totally tune out the thundering roar. Especially on nights when she's really tired. She'll just suddenly stop breathing. I wait for what seems a normal span of time for the next breath to occur, then sit bolt upright when it doesn't. Then there is is ... that raspy gasp for air.

It's alive -- it's alive!

Needless to say, it's not conducive to restful sleep.

We stop a few times for gas. Thankfully after I chastised them yesterday for continuing to fill the tank every time it's just half a tank down, we are waiting a little longer between fill ups. The girls are ecstatic about the cheaper gas prices. The lowest we've seen it is $2.19 a gallon. My Mom feels so vindicated when she gets the cheapest gas at home that I don't have the heart to tell her the 20 cents she saved is completely negated by driving 20 miles out of her way to get it.

I digress. I've discovered a scam at the pump. These gas companies advertise unbelievable savings across the street from their competitors -- a full 10 cents cheaper per gallon. The trick is -- it's often for plus. Who it their right mind would think that plus would be cheaper than regular? So you pump regular without really thinking about it. Then see you've actually paid MORE than what it was across the street. Very sneaky.

While we're driving, we pass a sign for "Toad Suck Park" in Toad Suck, Arkansas. It's amazing some of the names of places we've passed through on this trip. Here are just a few:

• Peculiar, Missouri
• Eclectic, Alabama
• Cutt-Off, Louisiana
• Ding Dong, Texas
• Smackover, Arkansas

While we're back on the subject of Arkansas ... today we stopped in Little Rock for lunch at a place called Sim's Bar-B-Q. They've been in business since 1937 and I'd heard the ribs there were amazing. When we get off the highway, Mom and Gram are eying the rather sketchy looking neighborhood with concern. We roll up to the original Sim's to find the location closed down, but notice a sign for their new location. In a strip mall. Next to a Sav-A-Lot food market.

Now I'm a little skeptical.

For absolutely zero reason, it turns out. We all order pork ribs in some form or another, and I swear -- the meat melts like butter in your mouth. But the best part is the wonderful Southern hospitality we get from Leroy and Michael. They wish me a happy birthday and send us on our way with a slice of sweet potato pie for the road. I've never tried it before, and can assure you -- it didn't last long. Yum.

We rolled into Memphis a lot earlier that I had planned. Got a nice room for our free night with Hotels.com at the Westin off famed Beale Street. Beautiful room and great recommendations from the staff for dinner at a hidden restaurant called Itta Bena. There's no sign, which is how they keep riff-raff from Beale Street where they belong. You kind of have to know it's there. 

They bring us a round of champagne for a birthday toast (will post pics tomorrow). Mom and Gram order the She Crab Soup, which they both oooh and aaah over. I have scallops which come over a cheesy grit concoction and a lemon caper cream sauce that is to die for. The scallops aren't as good as Mr. Colicchio's, but the mushroom pasta is divine. I could have skipped the chicken, which was a wee bit overcooked. but the MUST get at this place is our server Mark's Guava Mojito. It's not on the menu, but it is so good I consider offering him my first born child for the recipe.

Mark also gives me some tips on the way to make what he says is the best bloody mary on the planet. I'm skeptical, given my out-of-body bloody mary experience in New Orleans, but I thought I would include the recipe here for you to try.

Mark's Super Simple -- But Ultimately Perfect -- Bloody Mary

• Squeeze half a lime into a glass
• Add Absolut Peppar vodka to "here", you'll have to eyeball it. Mark doesn't use a jigger, but where he points on the glass looks like about a shot and a half to me
• Top it off with Zing Zang Bloody Mary Mix

Let me know how you fare. Or better yet ... have one waiting for me when I visit next.

We pull out a card for the website and blog that we've been passing out during the trip, and I tell Grandma to give it to Mark. She says, "You want ME to give it to him?" So I stick it in her shirt a little and tell her to have him go fish for it.

She says she doesn't do that sort of thing without getting beads in return.

The truth comes out. I need another drink.

Birthday Meanderings From Amy & The Girls

AMY

Aunt Pam told me a story yesterday about the first time her and my uncle went out.  Their first date was to go pick out Christmas presents for my brother and I.

It made me wonder about my parent's first date. 

They met while working at Beaumont Hospital in Royal Oak, Michigan.  He was an escort (get your mind out of the gutter) and she was a nurse's aid. The way Mom tells it, she made the first move. She loved how tall he was and his broad shoulders.  She followed him into the timecard room one day and put her hand on his shoulders, squeezed, and said, "What a hunk!" I guess Dad was a little shy, but that broke the ice. 

They started chatting, and then she began giving him a ride home from work.  Mom told him it was no trouble, but it was pretty far out of the way.  Eventually she asked when they were going to go out. Dad said pick a day, so she did.  Mom asked what they would go, and he said pick a place.  She picked the Detroit Zoo.

I think it's cute that my parents first date was at the zoo.  Mom said they  had just started staying open at night, and when they went, it was snowing.  There was no wind so the huge flakes were just falling straight down.  When they got to the camel enclosure, she said a camel walked toward them, then stopped short and started dancing.

Maybe it was the great camel warning dance.

No really.  Are you tired of hearing me say this yet?  Everything happens for a reason.  Divorce sucks, but as a result, my family has expanded.  I mow have three beautiful half-sisters, and although we don't talk now, I hold high hopes for the future.  For Dad, the third time was the charm and my alternate mother, Leslie, is absolutely fabulous.  And because I've waited to get married until a later age, focusing instead on my career, have created relationships with wonderful circle of friends.  

Family isn't always about what you're born into ... it's also something you create.  

MOM

Dear Amy,

Happy Birthday Little Princess!!! I cant believe its 35 years since I first saw your precious little face.  When you were just six months old I prayed that you would "go and see and do, all the things that you possibly could." And here you are ... toting your grandmother and I along on your journey through the United States! I must say I would have never guessed that you would have grown up so totally organized, tidy and efficient.  Wow, I am very impressed! It has been a lot of fun, talking, laughing and sharing as we journey through the countryside. I wouldn't have missed all the laughs for anything!

 

You have grown into a amazing woman!  I am so proud of your talent, your determination, your sense of adventure and spontaneity. You are creative, witty and as we have seen often on this trip, extremely outgoing ... all the things that I had hoped and prayed for so many years ago! Your heart is as big as Texas, your potential unlimited, and your ambition enormous! You go my little girl, hope this birthday is one you will cherish always, and that you have many, many, more!

Love Mom

PS  What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas! Same goes for the car ...

GRANDMA 

Happy day little girl . you are so special to me . this has been a trip of my lifetime.May you have all the love and fun times we shared. God bless and keep you always. Remember honey, it is never the destination -- but the journey that is important.  

Thank you for sharing this journey with us. 

Love Gram

There's No Place Like ... Family

Today we drove about 550 miles. I can't feel my butt anymore.

We left Sioux Falls somewhere around 8:30 this morning, jockeying the line between Iowa and Nebraska down Interstate 29 most of the day. We were hoping to eat steak in Omaha for lunch, but decide the folks at Omaha Steaks are in cahoots with the Mormons. Is there no truth in advertising? I assumed, given the name of the company, that I could get steak in Omaha. Just like I assumed the Tabernacle choir really would open their practice to the public on Thursday evenings as their website indicates. Now I just think it's a ruse they both use to get you to stop in a town you would otherwise have no reason to visit.

To top my steak-less disappointment, Flat Stanley is peeved because we couldn't find the "welcome to" signs for either Iowa or Nebraska. I think that little one-dimentional man is getting a little big for his britches.

Our destination stop for the day is Kansas City, Missouri. I have family there that I haven't seen in quite some time. I get to sleep for about two hours as Mom drives in the morning, and when we switch off, Grandma helps me navigate. But between trying to read the map upside down, and confusing Kansas City with the state of Kansas, we're a little directionally challenged. We do pretty well, but it's still about 4:30 before we arrive.

This is my father's brother's family. I really loved my Uncle Chris. He was a big man with a big personality and an even bigger heart. He died of cancer 20 years ago, and since then, I haven't seen my Aunt Pam or my cousins, Andrea and Kimberly more than once. I wish my parents had made sure we spent more time together, but you know how things go. Two summers ago, their youngest son, Christopher, and I got to hang out. It kind of inspired my desire to form a closer bond with my family. A desire which bore the first stirrings of the idea for this trip.

There's something magical about family. No matter how much time passes, when you get together -- it feels like home. It was so wonderful to catch up and see that despite the distance between us, we still have much in common. Andrea's sense of humor, Kimberly's passion for travel and Christopher's reflective quality ... the things I love most about them are traits I also see in myself. And despite this being my Dad's side of the family (my parents are divorced), we all felt welcome. That's my aunt's charm in action. It was a wonderful way to start celebrating my birthday.

Sadly, we had to get back on the road to make the three hour drive to Springfield to stay on target with getting back home before my plane leaves Sunday. My brother, Ryan, wishes me a happy birthday on the phone, then proceeds to go into graphic detail about how I was "made". Graphic is an understatement, and I have to say -- there is something about considering your parents actually doing it that gives me the heebie-jeebies. Thankfully, my mother reassures me that I was indeed immaculately conceived.

The streets south of Kansas City are all named with letters, like "O" and "AA". Very original. The problerm is, it's causing me road hypnosis. Zzzzzzzzzzzz. When we take a wrong turn that requires us to cut across a very dark and rural country road to get back on track, we play a game using the alphabet to help keep awake and alert. The first person comes up with two words using the first two letters of the alphabet. The next person uses the last word and adds another starting with the next letter of the alphabet.

For example ... "Apple Butter" becomes "Butter Cookies".

But we get more creative, and then it's all "Dog Fart" and "Fart Growing" and "Growing Hard". This may not seem funny as you're reading this post, but when your 86-year-old Grandmother comes up with some of the stuff she comes up with -- laughing so hard she can barely get the words out -- it's pretty comical. What makes it hysterical is when Mom stops laughing and tells us to knock it off.

Because if she keeps laughing ... she's going to have an accident.

If there's anything I've learned on this trip so far, it's that the bond between family is incredibly strong. Who else can make you want to kill them one minute, and then make you laugh so hard you think you'll pee your pants the next?

Sprint Sucks ... and Other Oddities

I'm sad to say there were no bison out my window this morning. Mom says I'm turning into a bison junkie. She's right. I just can't get enough ... in my eyes or my mouth.

Tasty tasty, pretty bison.

We do see a few while driving out of the park. This one didn't look so pretty. Kind of scraggly. Mom said it looked like a young one. Grandma said old. I just think it had mad bison or chronic wasting disease.

Just ahead, there are a few more. I'm in bison heaven. These big shaggy beasts walking down the side of the road. It's so cool. But it makes Mom nervous. I think she might get sick every time we pull up next to one.

Looking for wildlife with her and Gram is a trip in itself. They are having a hard time seeing. Yesterday, Mom tried to convince me that a large brown box on the side of the road was actually a group of deer. Both the girls point out deer "stumps" in the woods so often that I start pointing them out to like they're some new novelty.

Look ... a wild black stump!

People would think we were nuts if they heard half the conversations that go on in this car. Like the one today about Grandma's colonoscopy. I'm supposed to have one when I get home and wondered what it's like. What I'm really wondering about is the anesthesia. It's my first time, and I'm a bit anxious. She goes into a 10 minute graphic -- and I mean graphic -- conversation about the entire process. She didn't have anesthesia, so she remembers all the gory details.

"And then my lower bowel ... "

Mom and I are both trying to tune her out. Why is it that older people think their personal body functions are a worthy topic of conversation?


We stop by Mt. Rushmore again since I want to get the most out of our shiny new $10 annual parking pass. Just kidding -- I think the light might be better ON the monument instead of behind it like it was last night. I'm right, but you can decide for yourself. Here is a pic from today, and I've posted one on yesterday's blog, too.

We drive through Needles Highway (GREAT suggestion, Dr. Selva!) We really enjoyed the winding road and beautiful rock formations.

Next up ... Wall Drugs. This place is a stitch. On a 45-mile stretch of road between where we get back on I-90 and off in Wall, South Dakota, there are at least 50 signs for this roadside attraction that consumes an entire city block. From what we gather reading these signs, this place offers free ice water, a new T-Rex, a six-foot jackalope and coffee for 5 cents. Although veterans and newlyweds get theirs free. With a doughnut.

Then it's on to the Badlands. Mom is terrified of heights. And when I say terrified, I mean really terrified.

I made this poor woman accompany me a few years ago when I went bungee jumping. I didn't understand the severity of her fear until I jumped ... and she screamed. I can't lean over walls, and when I was trying to take a picture in Yellowstone a few days ago and sat on an embankment wall, she started knocking furiously on the window until I got back in the car.

At the Bandlands, there is a five-foot wide walkway leading out to an overlook. She clutches my arm and closes her eyes the entire walk out. She says when she was a kid, she walked out there by herself. They didn't have railings then, so she got out pretty far. Then she looked over the edge and froze. My uncle had to go out and collect her. My brother inherited this fear, but I can't wait to go skydiving.

Just don't get me near any small spaces.

Like the back of this damn Rav-4. I finally get a chance to take a nap, which seems to coincide nicely with Mom blaring her music on the stereo. I bury my head deeper into the pillow and scrunch up in a slightly less uncomfortable position. And I mean slightly ... I'm nearly six feet tall, so I'm knees to nose back here. Then Mom starts making phone calls at a decibel not found in normal conversation. We haven't had cell phone service for two days. No contact with the outside world, which means we've had to actually talk to each other.

Lord, help us.

Mom finally broke down today and put her roaming on. I refuse, but guarantee Sprint and I will have a heart-to-heart when I get back home. How can they not have coverage across an entire STATE?

Sadly, it's too late to see the inside of the Corn Palace in Mitchell, South Dakota, when we arrive. But their corn corn rendition of Mt. Rushmore on the outside of the building was fabulous. I leave you tonight with this question -- do you think global warming could ever make it hot enough to turn the corn palace into popcorn?

Pass the salt and butter.