Flying A Drone. It’s Way Harder Than It Looks

My shortcut through our community college, revealed 6 people standing on the baseball field 10 feet apart. They flew drones to the outfield, then back. This was a class in Wilderness Firefighting.  Here in Oregon, aerial surveillance can be a safer way to view a burning landscape.

It seems Unmanned Aerial Vehicles (UAVs)  are infiltrating jobs done by dogs, horses, men, and heavy equipment. I hooted at what my crochety family would yap about using drones to work on the farm and ranch.

And…a story was born.  Actually, an entire novel,. Hardly Any Shooting Stars Left came to life with a lot of cranky community members in mind, and a little murder to keep it twisting. (Coming April 2022).

So … how does a beginner learn to fly?

First, let me say that if you’re like me, and have barely held a controller, then you’ve got a STEEP learning curve, familiarizing yourself with button and sticks.  AAAAAwk! I’m terrible at video games. What was I thinking? My instructors make it look so easy. I suppose it’s like riding a bike or brain surgery—the more you do it—the better you get at it.

Second, consider starting with a flight simulation program.  Crashes can get expensive.

A sissy like me can muddle through with minimal damage to the drone by keeping it LOW to the GROUND and going slowly.  I was told ….crashes for a beginner are inevitable—sigh…but I have no idea why my drone is attracted to the one and only tree in the open field, over and over.  Crashing the drone doesn’t hurt like falling off a horse, but it can maim your wallet…and that’s how the 3D printing (replaceable parts) was added to the storyline.  I suppose I’d get better at flying if I could learn how to make a drone dump moss-remover on my pointy roof—OR chase the bone-burying, crap-depositing stray dogs out of my garden.  But then I read about…

Drones that Bark Like Dogs…

My cheap drone doesn’t have this feature and the drones fly quietly in  my small-town-mystery. But let me tell you, it would be really satisfying to use this technology to curse my darn drone-eating tree.

Enjoy this short New Zealand video for a quick taste of ranching and barking drones.

Credits: video-RNZ News; Jpg: Denny Mueller

Hardly Any Shooting Stars Left

I’m so blessed….

Here’s what they’re saying about Hardly Any Shooting Stars Left:

A wonderful read for anyone who enjoys action and memorable characters with larger-than-life personalities. The story unfolds against the background of contemporary life in the American West with an abundance of quirky, modern twists. Filled with humor and heart-breaking insights about loss, love and deep misunderstandings, Froman gives her readers the gift of a fine book. A good story, well told and enhanced with insights about the value of differences. Definitely a keeper.

~Anne Hillerman, New York Times best-selling author of the Leaphorn-Chee-Manuelito mysteries.

These sassy, irritating, head-strong characters will remind you of certain relatives everyone has. And that’s just the animals in the book.  The humans create even more of a mess as a twenty-six-year old attempts to leave while older-folks demand she grow up, and a murder teaches all of them hard-earned lessons.

Release Date: April 5, 2022.

Are you ready for a good story?  Check it out.

Thanks for reading.

Can’t See The Light

I have a trick to keep me buoyed during this dark time of season. I cut off the tops of onions (just the green parts) and use them in stews and tummy-warming casseroles.

Then I stick the bulbs in about an inch and a half of water and put the hopeful container near a window.

Stubs of Hope (and tastiness)

What little bit of sunlight we have only lasts about 7 hours and those minutes are full of gray clouds and raindrops.

But the onions remind me that the light is there and longer days are coming. I can’t hold sunlight in my hands, but the onions hold the miracle for me.

Within about 10 days, they’ve regrown new tops to be used again.

The Miracle of Unseen Light

The sunlight is coming.

Longer days are coming

Wherever your headspace and heart are right now, keep holding onto hope.

It’s coming. You just can’t see it yet.

Go soak some onions.

The Gift for Someone Who Doesn’t Need Anything

This came out 6 years ago, but my 2 brain cells don’t remember it, so maybe you’ll enjoy it again, too.

Many of the readers of Before Morning Breaks are folks who’ve tromped the by-ways and vine-littered trails of life. The souvenirs they’ve picked up along their illustrious and rock-an-a-hard-place journeys are gemstones of stories and wisdom.

So when you ask this sort of folk: “What would you like for…..(Valentines, Christmas, birthday, whatever)

They say….“Nothing. I don’t want a thing.”

I asked for this $260,000 Sport Yacht Cruiser…but Mr. Dallas Cowboy fan only laughed.

A few really, really brave souls will tell you, “Just a bit of time with you.”

But the truth is:

There’s something we all can use.

 A laugh.

A delicious, wonderful laugh that has no spaces in it for second guesses.

You feel it instantly when a friend has blanketed you with one of these laughs. There’s nothing about it that’s rueful or spider-webbed with cynicism.

It’s a gift, given with grace and ease. A gift that confirms you as a traveling partner. You may be stumbling toward different goals, but for that precious moment, you’re both on the same road.

So, I’m suggesting when you need to gift the person who has everything:

• listen to each other’s stories
• trade tea, hardtimes, and good books
• plot the overthrow of small minds
• commiserate about the head-scratching mysteries of love, life and death.
• And most of all….LAUGH…deep from the belly without any thought that you sound like a coyote in heat, or look like a Jello jiggler.

Let ’er rip…..laugh.

Many of you have certainly made me guffaw and snort. It’s unfortunate we can’t hear each other’s laughs over the internet. We’ve added “LOL” and Happy faces until their edges have become worn and faded—like much-used Welcome Mats. 🙂

And yet…I thank you for your comments and your blogs about your mistakes and stories of how “human” you are. Thanks for making me and so many others laugh.

I’m wondering who you like to laugh with….and why?

What We Leave At the Grave

Recently, I was doing some research for a story and strolling through a cemetery when I encountered a clear plastic box at the foot of a grave. The box was the size you’d store pencils in, but I could easily see through the clear plastic lid. It held 3 rabbit’s foots.

Not chopped off rabbit paws, but the kind of  rabbit’s foot a person carries for good luck with little silver tops and beaded chains.

This was a strange thing to leave at a grave.

Now here was a story…but what was it?

I found a groundskeeper and asked about it. He knew of the box. It had been there a couple of weeks. It’s a small-town cemetery, and he’d likely leave it a few more weeks or until the first snowfall, then pick it up if it were still there.

He wasn’t much interested in discovering “why” someone had left it there. It was simply another piece of weird. It seems people left all sorts of unique items at graves.

Wikimedia

Dead animals—some of them pets with the collars on
A box of Kentucky Fried Chicken
Jewelry
Boxes of Chocolates (particularly on Mother’s Day)
Pictures drawn by kids, then encased in plastic pages

Leaving something at the grave site is an ancient tradition. The Greeks left coins on the eyes of the dead, or in the mouth, to pay Charon, the ferryman who they believed conveyed souls to the world of the dead. If a person didn’t get a proper burial, then leaving a coin on the grave might help pay their way across.

The Jewish community often leaves stones on a grave. There are several explanations, but all of them convey the meaning: While other things fade, stones and souls endure.

A small memento on a grave can be a sign that someone came to visit and remember. This is a comfort to a family to see that others have come to pay their respects. Around Veteran’s Day, you may see coins on the headstone of someone in the military. Allegedly…

A penny means you visited and paid your respects
A dime means you served together
A quarter means you were there when the soldier was killed.

You may find a Challenge Coin on a military grave. A cherished coin left by a comrade.

In New Oreleans, I saw a grand collection of bobby pins and bows at Marie Laveau’s tomb. The famous hairdresser and VooDoo Priestess still gets requests from the living.

Golfer Bobby Jones gets golf balls on his grave.

Babe Ruth gets baseballs and sometimes beer.

So I asked the groundskeeper of  the rabbits’ feet if that was the strangest thing he’d encountered.

“Nope. Once I found 15 pencils stuck in a grave. Unsharpened. Eraser-end up.”

“What’s the story there?”

He shrugged. “I heard the guy was always chewing on a pencil.”

Okay. So the unintended moral of this research trip may turn out to help you and me through the holidays when relatives come to visit.

Just remember…there’s always a story wherever you look.

It might be years or NEVER before you get the WHOLE story.

Enjoy the weird you know.

Have a thankful Thanksgiving.

Jolabokaflod (Or pack your suitcase, honey. We’ve got to get to Iceland.)

While Costco and WalMart have shopping carts of 75% OFF Halloween Clearance, and Christmas music is already playing on 2 of our local radios stations….

… the Bokatidindi has come out in Iceland (Pause here for screams of excitment!!!)

The Bokatidindi is the catalog of EVERY new book published in Iceland. And it is a BIG deal. I’m going to repeat that…..

The Icelandic Publisher’s Association sends a free catalog about books to EVERY home in Iceland.

This is SOOOOOOOO much better than the old Sears (and Roebuck) Christmas catalog we used to moon about and spend hours folding down corners of pages.

Iceland publishes more books per capita than any country in the world…but the majority of the books are sold during 3 months of the year: Sept-Nov.

Thus begins the preparations for the Yule Book Flood where Icelanders exchange books on Christmas eve, then snug up in their favorite homey niche with chocolate and spend the rest of the evening reading.

Dallas Cowboy Fan and I are adopting the tradition.  I’ve already started on the chocolates.

Visit with your friends and relatives over Thanksgiving about starting a new tradition. A sane one…Jolabokaflod.

Pronounced: yo-la-bok-a-flot.

What book would you like to read?

(And Happy Thanksgiving!)

HUGS!!! ❤

 

Photo by Daria Shevtsova on Unsplash

Photo by Lilly Rum on Unsplash

 

Tell Me It Isn’t So

(Photo by Gaelle Marcel-Unsplash)

So a few days ago, I’m at the post office mailing three packages. The twenty-plus-year-old behind the counter asks the usual question. “Anything perishable, fragile, etc. etc.?”

“Nope. Only books,” I say.

She stops and looks at the size of the packages, then the addresses, asking with a confused face, “How many books?”

“Five different books in each package.”

“Really? Going all over the U.S.?”

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

“No. No.” She continues weighing and smacking boxes with stickers and tallying my fees. “It’s just that you’re sending so many books, and I didn’t even read a book cover-to-cover until I was twenty-five years old.”

I try to keep my face under control. “How did you get through—”

She doesn’t even let me finish the question. “Movies. I learned real quick to only use the original version of a movie. Those new versions—they’ve added stuff, then the teacher knew.”

“Okay,” I say, “I’ve got to know, what was the book that finally got you to the last page?”

“Oh, I don’t remember the title. It was just something lying around my Grandmother’s house. I was working at a distribution company, and our work was done by noon. I had to sit there the rest of the day with nothing to do. So I found a book at her house. I picked it because of the red cover. The only reason I read it was because I was bored to death.”

I ask if she remembers the plot. She does. It was a historical murder mystery. She enjoyed it.

“So now you’re a fan of murder mysteries?”

“No. I haven’t read a book since.”

The young man in line behind me edges close, clearly wanting to join the conversation. He butts in, “I know just what you mean. I never read a book until I was twenty-eight.”

Oh, tell me this isn’t so. Again, I’m trying to hold my face in neutral. He’s in a dress shirt and slacks. Both of these folks are native English-speakers and appear to have jobs in which reading is a necessity . Two people in the same afternoon? How common is this non-reading thing? So, I ask him the same question. “What was the book you finally read cover-to-cover?”

“Game of Thrones. I watched the TV series and just had to read the books.”

Two days later and I’m still flabbergasted by this exchange. How could these young folks have gotten to their late twenties never reading a whole book?

And I ask myself, “Well, when did you read your first “real” book? Nine—ten? I spent hours in our local library, waiting for Mom to get off work and helping The Boxcar Children survive another mystery. I still love doing research for novels, meandering among the stacks, sitting on tile floors to inspect the spines on the bottom row, hoping to find a long-forgotten treasure. Maybe my interests would’ve turned out differently if I’d had a phone to distract me back then instead of a book. Who knows?

The month of May kicks off The Great American Read program sponsored by Public Broadcasting.  Across our nation, folks will vote on their most beloved book. I hope you’ll vote, too. I think it might help our country if we encouraged reading more than tweets, texts, and facebook.

Consider Making Reading YOUR THING this month

• Give books for Mother’s Day.
• Gift a special book for graduation
• Pick out your summer reading now, so it’s on your shelf, waiting for your free moments.
• Revisit old favorites you love. They’re even better the second time around.

Change the world. Encourage reading. (photo by Ben White-Unsplash)

Perhaps I shouldn’t draw conclusions about young people and reading based on such a small data sample. But I left the post office, asking both of  the twenty-somethings to keep searching for that next book, telling them, “There’s a book out there that’ll change your world.”

I truly believe that.

Thanks for reading!!!!!!

What was the first book that made an impact on you?

How To Take A Viking River Cruise: Part 2

OR…Do A Grouch A Favor

Yes, I’m in the middle of a story. If you missed Part 1, you can find it here.

Refresh your memory, then come back because, you need to know that in the U.S. February 16th is “Do A Grouch A Favor Day.”

Keep this in mind because I was in a grousing mood when I left Amsterdam and began cruising the Danube in a Viking ship. It didn’t take long for me to start bellyaching about the “confined” feeling of the ship. Occasionally we got off to traipse around a castle, and then we resumed floating past many, many more castles. I was trapped, listening to the stories of somebody’s brother’s health problems, or Aunt Whowho’s cake decorating business, or tales of “my son, the successful doctor.” (Shoot me now.)

Escape was difficult. The exercise deck was flattened. (Literally). Chairs, railings, and posts had been folded, hugging the top-deck so the ship could pass under low bridges and locks. You could sit (or pace like I did–inside) and watch the world go by.

But in Melk, Austria, the ship’s tour director arranged a treat for me and Dallas-Cowboy-Fan. A company close to the docks rented bikes. We checked in on-line, and the company sent us the combination of the bike locks. We unleashed our sturdy wheels and off we rode.  Our mission was to beat the ship to Krems, twenty-five miles away.

Now…a word about these bikes…when I say sturdy…I mean…like tanks.  Each bike weighed 40 pounds, had 3 gears with only back-pedaling to stop. But I was glad to be free, doing something, exercising, exploring. (Yahoo!!!!)

We took off like children at recess. About 4 miles out of town we pushed our wheeled-freighters up a hill to a bike-bridge over the Danube.

A group of cyclists we’d seen in town passed us, laughing about our WWII era bikes. It was the first of many snickers about our rentals. But I was glad to have the sturdy steed beneath me as we rushed down the concrete bike bridge, 3/4 mile long, picking up speed until we were flying over the Danube around 30 m.p.h. My stocking cap, which was in the front basket flew out, and I snatched it mid-air, petrified I’d somersault into the river and die if I took my hands off the handlebars again.

Orchards and Vineyards of Wachau Valley. Danube in the background

We should’ve taken pictures from the bridge, but neither of us were sure our gears wouldn’t strip if we tried to stop. The path turned into a winding trail through miles of countryside. Shrines of The Madonna or Jesus stood in vineyards or at the entrances/exits of tiny villages (prayers for a good harvest and blessings.) People were friendly, except the two old fraus in leggings who looked at us as though we were riding dead chickens.

The boat had already docked by the time we reached Krems. As I pushed my bike past it, a man asked me to take his picture in front of the boat. I told him, “Ich spreche kein Deutche.” (I don’t speak German). He cocked his head, confused.  “Keiner?”  (None?) I shook my head and continued looking for the kiosk where we could  self-check-in our bikes and stop the clock ticking up the fee of 5 Euro an hour). (It had taken us 4 hours. Okay…we stopped and ate and drank a little along the way.)

In 5 minutes, we got back to the ship. The man was still there, admiring the boat. I felt like a donkeybutt for being unkind after such a glorious ride. “Willst ein foto?” (Want a photo?) I asked him. “Ja wirklich?” (Really?) he asked.

I nodded and he handed me his camera and began waving and calling people sitting on the benches. Aunts, uncles, grandma, kids…ten people hurriedly assembled in front of the gangplank, with the red Viking banners proudly waving on either side of them.

And that’s when the trip changed.

I’d been pacing, walking hallways, wanting to get off that ship. In front of me were ten people, hoping, dreaming that someday, they’d get on that ship and go somewhere else. Until then a picture would have to do. It would sustain their hope of someday.

And then they gave me a kindness. I asked for their story, and they shared it. They told of their time of living in eastern Europe, of bananas as birthday presents (because they were rare), of cotton shortages and only polyester clothing, of Levis that were 2 week’s wages on the black market. When the wall fell, they made it out. Life was better—GOOD!  But someday…

My grouchiness died right there with the dawning that I was blessed. Fortunately, that gift has mostly stayed with me.  When I have too much to do, or hate our politics, or don’t want to cook another frickin’ meal, I’m back standing on that dock, seeing the world through their eyes.

So … how do you take a Viking cruise (or any journey)?

Yep, I’m going back out with Viking and try it again. A different river. Different countries. Different attitude. Instead of clothes, I’ll worry about being be more alert, watching, looking for how we’re all different or the same. I’ll write stories when I can’t exercise. Maybe I can ditch my expectations  (connections, weather, and grumpy peeves I drag around).  And heaven help me, I’ll learn to listen, especially when I hear  Auntie Whoever say, “my daughter, the successful banker….” (but honestly, I’ve already got a list of topic-changing questions in my pocket).

And if my attitude fails?

That’s where you come in. Remember, “Do A Grouch A Favor” Day?  February 16th? There’s no reason it can’t be extended. Nothing kicks butt out of a bad attitude like receiving a kindness. If you run into someone cranky like me, please take a moment to be kind. Sure, the person doesn’t deserve it, but your small gentleness will help the healing. (Trust me). And….who knows what changes will come? That grouch may carry the thought of you with them for months and perhaps over an ocean miles way.

Practice grace, everyday.

But especially on Feb 16th. Please come back and tell me what you did for a grouch.

And we continue the journey….

 

How To Take a Viking River Cruise–Part 1.

It’s been a while since my last post. We have a bit of catching up to do.

Amsterdam-The Brower Haus built in 1737.

Last Christmas, we decided we’d save our bucks for  anniversary, birthdays, and  Christmas and give ourselves an international  experience in the upcoming year instead.

Okay, we were probably watching too much Public Broadcasting. The beguiling violins and cellos of the Viking Cruise song lured us like sirens … and shoot, darn, heck, who doesn’t want to travel to foreign places to learn to knead bread, make pancakes, and run between the blades of the windmills. (Okay, maybe not that last one.) We signed up.

The Grand European Tour: Amsterdam to Budapest

1. PACK TIGHT:  I’m a small packer, traveling with a carry-on and a backpack. Of course, I look like a charwoman most of the time, but when I’m traveling, I figure I’ll never see these folks again, so why risk a dislocated spine?

But on a river cruise, you DO see these folks. Everyday. Every night. Almost  every meal. Almost every tour. So here’s a travel-secret: Use the JEANS-TECHNIQUE: No one is sure if you’ve previously worn your jeans, OR if you’ve got on a fresh pair…so you could probably do a 15-day trip with 2 pair of jeans.  Unfortunately, my jeans look like they should be made into Raggedy Ann dolls, so I simply packed black clothes. I looked like Johnny Cash with a scarf. The good news is that no one cares what you wear (unless you’re naked). These trips are pretty laid-back.

Keisergracht (Kings Canal) About 15,000 bikes end up in the canals each year.

2. ARRIVE AT YOUR DESTINATION EARLY: I have a lot of talents. Most of them are useless (like counting backward in Pig-Latin or juggling sponges), but my favorite skill is being able to sleep on airplanes. I snap on noise-canceling headphones, a blindfold, warm socks, blanket, air pillows, nearby snacks, water, and Chapstick, and I’m snoozin’ by the time we reach mid-Atlantic ocean. I arrive only slightly less jet-lagged than Dallas Cowboy Fan, who has watched four movies through the overseas flight. HINT: We try to arrive early and soak up sunshine in our new locale; it’s supposed to help the body reset. I don’t know if it works because every time I sit in the sun, I fall asleep like a cat in a warm spot.

3. PREP BEFORE YOU GO:

Yeah, sure, the cruise folks provide local lectures and tours in every town.  But these are

Whaddya mean these are Dutch pancakes??

the usual touristy stuff. If you want to mix it up with the locals, you’ll have to find your own adventures.  And honest-to-Pete, our unplanned forays were some of the best parts of the trip. (See Part 2-coming)

4. TAKE SOMETHING TO DO:

Why?  Because you’ll be spending A LOT of time sitting around, watching the scenery go by.  Yes, most of it is lovely and interspersed with the squeaks of going through 67 locks, but it’s like being at a party for 2 weeks with strangers. People start hauling out cards, board games, dominoes, or telling you about relatives that you may (or may not)  care about.  One experienced traveler brought his taxes to work on; others brought knitting, puzzles, Kindle readers stuffed with books, journals, and several brought work from their offices. (There’s a lot of down-time).

5. SETTLE-IN:

Unpack in your cleverly engineered room. You’ll be pulling up to the food tanks about

Don’t worry about language. This sign means (If you stand on this open air bus, you’ll lose your head.

every 4 hours During this cruise-time, Viking will treat you like a queen or king. So IF your ideal vacation is eating and visiting OR not having to cook, do housework, or laundry, then you’re going to be very very happy. IF you need to be a bit more activity… you’ll need to come up with a plan.

Of course, not all plans turned out like we expected. We’re in a different country, don’t speak the language, and can’t read the signs. What could go wrong? But that creates the great memories of travel.

Merry Christmas…may you have a few surprises among your presents.

“Wherever you go becomes a part of you somehow.” 
― Anita Desai

PART 2:

TOURIST OR TRIP WARRIOR?…or

IF IT’S TUESDAY, IT MUST BE—HEY! WHERE ARE WE NOW?

in HOW TO TAKE A VIKING CRUISE

 

 

How to Survive Your Spouse’s HighSchool Reunion or “I’m Ready For My Close-Up, Mr. DeMille”

Hey!  Let’s go on a book tour…and add relatives, and people we haven’t seen or kept track of in years and years. Won’t that be fun?

 

First Stop:  A Texas High School Reunion. (Go Eagles!!)

Now, I’m sure many of you have attended your mate’s/partner’s/good friend’s soirees in which you didn’t know a soul besides the bartender, and that was only because you stood, yakking at the bar all evening and tipped him for listening.

So follow these dandy tips to really enjoy this type of shindig.

1. DON’T WORRY ABOUT A THING. Everybody has been crammed through the AGE Machine. They’ve been cleverly disguised in layers of lasagna, worry, and hair dyes.  Participants aren’t sure who’s the alum  and who’s the spouse.  Hide your name tag, and tell yourself, you can be anybody you want to be.  Try out a few alternate personalities.
   

   Ha.Ha.Ha. No…this wasn’t one of the personalities I chose, but I rarely get to use this photo, and it’s Christmas…so here it is.

2) HAVE A PLAN. My plan was to talk to anyone sitting alone and photo-bomb as many pictures as I could. Two photographers had been hired to mill through the crowd getting as many “casual” photos as possible of the alums. So using the advice of Rule #1, I tried out my Kim Kardashian personality and stuck my head into every group photo I was close to. Often I dragged whoever I was talking to into the photo also.  (Remember in high school only the cool kids made it into  casual pics throughout the yearbook?)  HA.HA. Well me and my “I-only-had-one-picture-in-the-yearbook” new-friends made it into many photos this time. (I snagged 10 all by myself and I’m sure  the Reunion Planners are saying to themselves right now, “Who in the heck is this? Was that Betty Lukas? “No, I think it was Krissy Bell.”)

3) DON’T FOLLOW ALL THE RULES.  Oh, good grief, you didn’t follow the rules in high school, so why are you acting like an old fart and doing what you’re told now?  Remember, you can legally drink now (but your liver may tell you otherwise). But wait a minute….maybe you were one of those kids who DID follow the rules?  Well, remember RULE #1: You can be anyone you want to be.  So let loose a little.  Ask somebody you don’t know to dance.  Start a card game in the corner.  Talk someone into doing karaoke with you.

4) HAVE OTHER PLANS BESIDES JUST THE REUNION.   Seeing people you haven’t kept up with or even exchanged a Christmas card with is fun for a little while, but don’t make it the center point of your excursion.  Dallas Cowboy’s reunion was a hoot, but if it had turned out to be a flop we still had these exquisite adventures to bookmark our memories.

Dallas Cowboy Fan and I visited the concrete wonder that is Dallas.  Most of the time we found ourselves parked on the LBJ Freeway amazed at the modern art called, Our Interstate Highway System, and we learned the interesting hand signals Texans use to communicate with each other.

Dallas Cowboy Fan affectionately named our little rental, Gutless. It had the pick-up-and-go of a wisk broom and was quite a joy because it often earned us a few hand signals.

The little Kia Rio made it into EAST Texas and every Sonic Drive-In along the highway.

 

Gutless and I with our 44 oz cask of Root Beer which Sonic calls a “Route 44.”

All that’s left of the poor farm in Kauffman, TX

Once the richest half-acre in the world, Kilgore, TX produces little oil anymore.

So…it’s true.  You can have great memories of a high school reunion, or any party where you don’t know anyone.

Just remember…for the upcoming year…

You can be anyone you want to be!

Bless Sonic Drive in. In a tiny Texas town they, let me be a carhop for a while. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to wear one of those ka-ching money changers.