I’ve often said, usually in the privacy of my own home, but because I’m feeling especially snarky I’ll say it out loud, that I think the central Texas landscape is ugly. No, scratch that, it’s fugly. Flat, windy, weather with a major mood swing disorder, humidity thick enough to choke wildlife and Interstate 35 that is nothing more than an automotive deathtrap. And don’t try to tell me we have mountains in this state. We don’t; they’re just really tall hills. I envy the Testosterone Twins who took a drive to North Carolina to help a friend move and came back with pictures of actual beautiful scenery. Impossibly tall trees, gorgeous water, a glimpse or two of actual mountain along the way. Jerks.
Anyway, The Diva and I had planned a trip Saturday to Dripping Springs to visit the quilt shop, Valli and Kim, which my co-worker, L, told me was right up my alley. Now, if my mother had said this, it would be code for ‘Everything there is friggin’ ugly but you’d love it’, but when L says it she means ‘Awesome-sauce!’ More on my quilt shop acquisitions in a later post, but for now, I’ll answer your pressing question. And I know you have one.
WHERE IS DRIPPING SPRINGS, TEXAS?
According to MapQuest, the liars, it’s roughly 1 hour and 54 minutes from my humble abode. By my calculations, it’s just before you reach the edge of the known world or Tartarus, which may actually be the same place. According to the locals, it’s the gateway to the hill country. The hill country is gorgeous and, because I was driving and chose life and limb over photography, you’ll have to take my word for it. Or Google it. Whatever.
After giving me my requisite thirty minutes of LQS shopping (she’s sooo generous), The Diva, who has turned into something of a home décor freak, asked the shop lady about local antique shops. They had one. How long could this take, I thought. ID-I-OT! She picked up a stuffed animal, not décor, not vintage and not previously alive and now taxidermied, thank you, Lord. I found jewelry, a lunch box from my childhood (whimper) and these little babies…
Go ahead and scoff. If they’re playing 80s music on the retro radio stations, these 1950s era canisters certainly qualify as vintage. They say things cannot bring happiness, but I’m here to tell you, these little gems make me pretty flippin’ happy. And doesn’t my counter top look happy, too? Wonder if they’ll make me a better cook? Nope, that’s a job for a higher authority.
I also found this purse. What are the odds?
I want someone to translate this for me…
Back to the trip…
I had a plan for yesterday and it went something like this….drive to the edge of the world, spend money, drive straight home. I am not, by nature, a fly by the seat of my pants gal. Shocking. There is always, always a plan and I don’t deviate because I’m a weinie and it stresses me out to wing it. Anyway, we hit Johnson City, hometown of Lyndon B. Johnson our former President, not an homage to Ron Jeremy and there it was…go right to go home, go left to Fredericksburg. The Diva chose left and it was Hill Country, here we come!
Fredericksburg is full of good stuff like shopping, wine, antiques, wine, museums, wine. You get the picture. And where does The Diva, a 10 year old girl, want to go?
It’s like vacationing with men, only without the farting and scratching and driving around in circles for hours looking for that perfect parking spot. Gah! I won’t tell you it wasn’t interesting, because it was but it also takes HOURS to tour properly and lots of patience (which The Diva lacks…hell, who am I kidding, me too) to read every placard. Tickets are good for two solid days so, if you go, plan accordingly. A Hoveround may not be a bad idea either.
They have a courtyard with plaques and bricks with names of servicemen on them. Here’s my Papa’s.
They have an awesome diner at the local airport which I’ve mentioned in earlier posts but it’s so great, I’ll mention it again. That and the fact that it’s my blog and I can. So there.
We were, in the words of my Granmommie, too pooped to poddle when we were done with the museum, so there was no more shopping for us. However, on our way out of town, there was an emergency stop here…
I am currently stalking these people on Facebook and my diligent pursuit of seeing my favorite vintage on the shelves at my local grocery finally got the wine lady to cave to my wishes. Amateurs may call it hounding; professionals call it dogged determination. I thank my Nana for this trait.
And, yes, that’s bacon chocolate and a bottle of peach wine. I can now die happy.
We made a few more stops because it was ‘on the way’ home and it wouldn’t do not to support local economies and all that. I arrived home flipping tired with a child who was wired like she hadn’t had her meds but was having to prop her eyes open with toothpicks and I only popped one Xanax all day. We all won, y’all.
We. All. Won.