How did I get so far behind? Slackin’ around, I tell ya‘. I just gotta catch up…I can’t remember what I did yesterday, let alone a whole month or two ago. I have to jot notes to myself in my phone, then I either forget to read them or can’t make heads or tails of the wisdom I was imparting anyway.
I’m determined to bring you up to date in this post, though, regaling you with dazzling canapes of deliciousness from our stops in Memphis, TN, Little Rock, AR, Vicksburg, MS, and New Orleans, LA.
The 2 Kings of Memphis
When we hit the Memphis area we dipped our toes into our first military campground, at the nearby naval base. We typically stay about an hour outside of the city, so we can sightsee but also relax and find local places to hike and bike. Military base nightly rates aren’t bad, but most sites are first come/first served; if that makes you as nervous as it does us, then you’ll understand why we’ve only done it twice. Joe has been booking us 2-3 months out, and so having a week somewhere we can’t be positive of a spot (WITH full hookup, meaning water, sewer, and electric) is a matter of no small concern for camping weenies such as ourselves.
In fact, this potential scarcity of resources—without exception—triggers Joe’s competitive “we have to leave super early to get there before everyone else” analynity. [I’m sure that’s a word, check again…] He always—again, without exception—tells me it takes an extra hour to get to our next destination anyway, causing me to nod along sagely and subtract an hour in my head using my genius-level math skills.
Just imagine how much worse it gets when we haven’t clutched a guaranteed spot within our tiny but sharpened claws! Oh, the horror…we have to wake up even before light in some cases. It’s unthinkable, and yet here we are.
Where were we?
Anyhoo, if one has any sense of decency—eh-hem, I mean an affinity for national issues and human rights—your first stop in Memphis would likely be to pay homage to Martin Luther King, Jr., and the movement for equality he furthered at the National Civil Rights Museum at the Lorraine Motel. Cost is $18, or $16 for folks 55+, or $13 for veterans, which may or may not apply to any of you fogies.
If you are White and, like me, thought you had an understanding of what Black people endured throughout American history—from slavery through poverty, murders, abuse, and racism disguised in all its laughable rhetoric—you will probably still be surprised, horrified, and saddened by what you learn here. We were. I was struck by the comparison of the clean yet humble motel rooms where King and his entourage were staying with the seediness of the bathroom across the street where the murderer lay in wait. That seediness is par for the course with Whites who still cling to notions that they are somehow superior to other humans.
I was also unprepared for the visual impact of the bus that white supremacists and the KKK burned during the Freedom Rides. The imagery of this wanton destruction wrought by those in positions of power will stay with me always.
I’m not sayin’ you’ll have fun here. But I reckon learning about the horrors humans have imposed on others they deem as “below them” is a necessary and life-changing evolutionary experience. I know it served to open my eyes even further. Is this who Americans want to be? Again? Still? I know I don’t…and I know I’m not alone.
And then, on a Happier Note, We Paid a Visit to Elvis, known as the King of Rock and Roll [for the Youth Amongst Us, who are Probably like “Who?”]
Ah, Graceland, Home to Elvis and thereby daily throngs of his visiting admirers. Are you old enough to remember where you were on August 16, 1977 when he died? It was a pretty big deal for us, as my mother counted herself among his fans. I was 13 at the time, and I remember listening to his records in our PA farmhouse and having a sad with my mom and my brothers.
I’d been to Graceland before, but it was a long, bygone era—probably at least 25 years ago, with my very own little mother (she was only 4’11”.)
But it was nothing like it is today! Holy Granola. Now it’s an entire complex, and in addition to the house tour, features other add-ons like the car museum, a peek into his two airplanes, and an exhibit highlighting his time in the military. I definitely wouldn’t miss it if you’ve never been, although fair warning, it’s pricey these days. I wouldn’t go again anytime soon, unless we found ourselves in a zombie apocalypse situation and needed a visually stunning place to panic until our brains get munched by a passing horde.
I can see the movie footage now [we’re young and hawt, of course]: we race through Elvis’ bedroom, duck behind his pink cadillac, and then fruitlessly attempt to start his plane as a swarm of snuffling stiffs hangs from its wings.
Will we succeed in escaping and saving the planet from the scourge? You betcha, but only in the movie, because we’re played by young and hawt actors. In real life, Joe gets away and finds a splendid hiding spot and a nice new wife who cooks for him, while I freeze up like a rabbit, becoming the first tasty snack or a zombie myself.
In Little Rock we Hang with 1 (and a Half) Kids
Let’s pretend the zombies decided our brains were not to their taste [rudely calling us pezzaunts], then dumped us outside our camper. At this point, our wisest course of action would be to mosey our way over to see my son, Rayne, in Little Rock furabit. He’s young, and let’s face it, tougher than us anyway, so he’d probably do better in a zombie apocalypse.
He’s there for four months in training for his Air Force Reserve unit, and I was looking forward to our time together. Long gone are the days of him confidently declaring his plan to pull a camper into my yard so he could live by Mom forever. Ironically, now it’s me pulling a camper up to his neighborhood pleading for some mother/son time. Didn’t see that comin’.
Now that he’s married, though, I’ve been wonderin’ if I gained a child, lost a child, or is it somewhere in between? No matter. I’m calling it a gain of half a kid, and Kristin’s mom can have half of my kid, too…As long as it’s the bottom half. [Ah, I told myself not to make the fart joke, but just couldn’t resist.]
Our household may or may not have run on fart jokes during Rayne’s youth. Who knew we were both still eight-year-old boys at heart?
Although Rayne and Kristin got married at the courthouse before he left for tech school, their “real” wedding is this coming September on the beach, so they’re knee deep in those planning things folks do for such auspicious occasions. That sounds like work, doesn’t it? God lov’em.
I’m pretty sure I get to just show up at the wedding and have fun, which I’m pretending I’ve earned in this short phase between changing diapers and wearing diapers. Amiraight?
Rayne, Joe and I took a drive to Hot Springs, AR, where we checked out the local history and hiked in the National Forest. Hot Springs is “known for naturally heated springs, many of them in Hot Springs National Park. Bathhouse Row has eight bathhouses from the 19th and 20th centuries.”
I was pleasantly surprised because I love big old beautiful buildings, and these spas looked so well-cared for and unique, even the ones that are no longer open to the public. There are only a couple of spas doing business in the town anymore, though, so advance bookings are encouraged. Rayne and I pondered checking out one of the spas, but there were no appointments available for men, so we bagged it.
An Early Thanksgiving Celebration Ends in Third Emergency Room Trip
We just can’t stay out of the emergency room! I’m been twice for unmentionables which I was indeed uncouth enough to mention, and then came our Thanksgiving dinner with Rayne. He wouldn’t be able to get back to PA for Thanksgiving, so we cooked at his apartment, had a nice meal together, and then Joe chopped a hunk out of his pinkie. [Sorry about the graphic image…you needed the whole experience, though, didn’t you?]
Attempts were made by the three non-medical people in the room to staunch the bleeding, but once we realized that wasn’t happening, Joe and I reluctantly packed up our laundry baskets [yes, we were doing laundry at Rayne’s, if you must know] and leftovers and scurried to the ER.
Just in case you wrongly thought ERs were fun, I’m here to disabuse you of the notion. This one was crowded with REALLY SICK PEOPLE, including one woman who was shivering nonstop in a wheelchair and another girl who refused to wear her mask but looked out of it, too. We were in a COVID PETRI DISH!
As soon as they did triage on Joe’s finger we left…they said they couldn’t stitch it anyway because of the missing chunk, so we found a clinic for him to go to the next morning for a proper bandaging, antibiotics, and a tetanus shot.
We also experienced our first line of storms boasting their very own tornado spawns in Little Rock. The sirens on the base kept going off, so we huddled in our camper under the thunder, lightning, and deluge of water and hoped we didn’t end up three counties over and in pieces. Whew….not a banner night.
Who Knew There was a Big Civil War Battlefield in Vicksburg? Not Us…
That’s probably not something to be bragging about, is it? To be fair, though, I’m old AF, and even though I always did well on tests, the info I learned fled my brain as soon as it was no longer needed. All that space was reserved for really important teenage stuff like the next party, the next boy, and the next outfit for the next boy and the next party.
This, though. This! What in the actual? The above graphic pulls a justification from Mississippi’s Declaration of Secession. “Utter subjugation awaits us if we stay in the union . . . So we must secede so that we may continue to subjugate Black people…and other SPECIES of property.” This was written by some sick, sick fucks with a straight face and some kind of righteous indignation that they were doing what Jesus would do? I can’t even.
It had grown dark, and Joe needed something from the truck. He opened the camper door, only to see what appeared to be Tootie sitting on the step. He whipped the door shut, looked about wildly, and said, “Where’s Tootie?”
“She’s right there in her bed,” I replied, jumping up and rushing the door. “Why, is there a cat outside?”
Yes, there was. This boy wanted in, was quite vocal about it, and really, who am I NOT to oblige the demands of my cat friends? But the second he stepped paw onto the welcome mat he realized he was in the wrong camper and hightailed it back out the door. I awkwardly knocked on neighbors’ campers asking if they’d lost him but no one fessed up. He eventually took himself off to the back row of the campground, and I didn’t see him again. I choose to believe he happily found his way home.
In Lousiana, Joe wanted to go on a boat tour of the bayou, which I was initially less than enthused about. I wanted to be young and drink hurricanes in New Orleans, dammit! But go I did, and we were the first tour all week to see a real live Alley-gator. Turns out it does get pretty cold even in New Orleans, and all the alleys were asleep in their little water-filled dens! Who knew. Luckily it was a sunny (yet cold) day, and this guy was lured out by the promise of a nice sunbathe to warm his scales or whatever it is he sports on his outer personage.
In New Orleans, we decided on a bus tour to get a feel for the city. It was led by a Black woman who was a former principal and fifth generation resident. She was not only smart and funny, but so knowledgeable about the history and the intermixing of peoples and races in the area that she kept us all hanging on her every word. Highly recommend.
And wouldn’t you know it…Joe finally booked us a resort campground, and it was too damn frigid to enjoy the amenities!
Merry Christmas to all my friends and readers who celebrate! I wish you all the best this holiday season.
Speaking of, there’s still a little time to order books as holiday gifts for the animal lover in the family. Check out my offerings at http://www.tamirathayne.com. I’m happy to autograph any sales direct from my site, too.
That and ten bucks will get you a fancy coffee at your local purveyor.
Tamira Thayne's "Untethered" 
Reblogged this on FreedomChaser Books and commented:
Author Tamira Thayne’s last blog post for 2022 from her RV tour of the U.S. Catch up today!
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