About 50 miles away from Houston is a long way away from drama. My Friday night was spent in a serious game of Scrabble with Mom, my nephew and a boy named Chase. My nephew won by seven. He has a way of doing that, which I try to take in stride.
There's a lot going on in Conroe this weekend. The most important - at least to my fellow guests at this hotel - is the Texas Line Dance Jamboree.
This morning in the hotel's restaurant, I've somehow been adopted by a group of dancing attendees. Marge, Betty, Dorris and Pepper tell me all about it over coffee. Not one of them is a day under 60. I ask, Is this local to the Houston area? Pepper bubbles, Oh no, honey, we're from all over Texas.
Marge offers me a piece of the apple pie they're sharing for breakfast. She baked it Friday morning and brought it with her.
Pepper has the words, Texas, and Dance, in rhinestone pins on her jacket. Silver cowboy boots dangle from her pierced ears. She's wearing pink pants, and a pink jacket over her pink and purple deep cut V-neck top. Marge, Betty and Dorris are wearing the same. These ladies ooze senior citizen sexy.
At another table, there's a group of women in black jeans and t-shirts with gold painted cowboy hats and boots all over them, Little bit country, Lubbock, Texas, in gold puff paint on their backs. And another group in bright blue t-shirts with musical notes and Texas Beat, Sugar Land Sweet printed on the front. Apparently, someone from their group is still upstairs, not feeling too well. One says to another, I gave her some Pepto Bismol, she should be fine in a little while. Another adds, It's just gas. All she needs is Beano.
A woman whose hair perfectly defines frosted comes up to me. She has Line Dance... Line Dance... Line Dance printed on her t-shirt beneath a row of colorful cowboy boots. She eyes my laptop, tells me I did a good job with the music last night, and asks if I'm getting the music ready for today. I explain that I'm not with the Jamboree, I'm in Conroe for other reasons. She's determined though, studies me a minute, and says, What's your name, honey? Maybe I know you.
That's a Southern thing. Who are your people? To what tribe do you belong?
My newfound Pink Lady friends do a line dance demo for me in the lobby. I want to take them home and decorate my life with their punctuation.
They all gather to go. Dorris gives me a hug before they walk out the restaurant and disappear into the day and out of my life.
If I didn't want to spend this Saturday with my nephew so much, I think we all know that faster that you could say Boot Scootin' Boogy, you'd find me spending this afternoon at the Texas Line Dance Jamboree.