Only Us
Only Us... (A series)
Being Friendly
The imminent arrival of Hurricane Dorian on the Southeast coast of the U.S. has been something we’ve never dealt with, and my prayers go out to those affected and harmed by this hurricane’s devastation. I can only imagine the heartache and pain that folks are suffering as they lose everything they own. As for me, I’m in the midst of celebrating my tenth wedding anniversary, and yeah, Dorian threw a monkey wrench into my well-crafted plans. This morning we were supposed to drop off our youngest daughter Kym at RDU, pick up our rental car, and drive to the lovely city of Charleston, South Carolina. I had the restaurants picked out (with a day trip to Savannah, Georgia for dinner!), the places I wanted to show her, and I’d even planned for us to take pictures at Rainbow Row. Man plans and God laughs… We were visiting our cousins in Raleigh-Durham, and it wasn’t until Sunday that I really paid attention to the path of Dorian. Coastal South Carolina was in a state of emergency, and Charleston was being evacuated. Uh-oh. We called our hotel and the lady there implored us to cancel our reservations because things were looking grim. Sigh. Cancelled the hotel, then cancelled our flight from Charleston to MDW on Saturday. Now what? Traci did some research while I slept (lol, all I did was sleep), and we revamped and rebooted the vacation. Roanoke, Virginia became the destination. We drove north in the wee hours of the morning, skirting the mountains and stopping once at a roadside gas station/café in the ‘Moonshine Capital’ of the world. Lol. Two breakfast biscuits, fresh tater tots, and conversation with everyone in the place, ranging from grandkids to spousal wants, and even one fella telling us of his experience with our ‘Polar Vortex.’ We left amidst best wishes, handshakes, and Traci asked aloud when we got into the car, “How do we end up talking to everyone, any place we go?” Um… because it’s us. Hours later, after checking in at our hotel and taking much needed naps, we sallied forth in search of victuals and sustenance. We went to a place called ‘Smokey Bones' and as we were parking, we watched a woman having the most difficult time parking a Cadillac Escalade. We figured it must have been her first time backing up a bigger truck. She exited her finally parked vehicle at the same time as us. We were silent, wearing our well-practiced poker faces, and the lady struck up a conversation with us. “Did I scare y’all?” she asked, as we walked in unison towards the front door of the restaurant. “Forgive me, I’m getting used to driving the smaller truck ‘cuz I just traded in my ESV.” (The ESV is the Suburban sized Escalade). “I had a craving for some barbecue while I was here in town, so I popped by here.” “Oh, you’re not from Roanoke?” I asked, knowing what was about to happen. “No, I’m from West Virginia, about an hour away,” she replied. “Really?” Traci says. “We were thinking about taking a quick day trip there tomorrow.” “Y’all really should,” the lady gushed, as we entered the restaurant. “You’ll love it.” She waved to us as she was shown a table, and we were escorted to ours. We hadn’t even had a chance to look at our menus before she was back, standing next to our table. She was a well-coiffed silver-blonde haired woman of maybe fifty, diamond hoops in her ears, a tasteful gold necklace around her neck, a large, princess-cut diamond wedding band on her third finger, and a large Louis Vuitton duffel bag over her shoulder. It was obvious, even to the oblivious, that this woman was wealthy. “Do y’all travel a lot?” she asked, which led to a back and forth conversation about airports, destinations, passports, hotels, etc. I don’t know if the conversation impressed her, or if she thought we were in the same economic position as her and her husband (who takes a month long hunting vacation to Idaho and Wyoming every year without her.), but she put something in my head. “Well, if you get a chance to go to West Virginia, you’ll love the Greenbrier,” she said. “It used to be where the president was supposed to go in case of a national emergency. It’s amazing. The food is excellent, the bunker is wonderful, and the casino reminds you of Monte Carlo. I swear you all will love it. Enjoy the rest of your trip.” She waved goodbye and disappeared across the restaurant. I ordered a blackberry whiskey lemonade and Traci ordered a tequila sunrise. As we sipped, I went to Google and looked up Greenbrier. Good grief! It’s… one of those places where the men wear seersucker suits, linens, and hats to lunch and dinner. Yeah. The cheapest room is $400 a night, and everything about it is five-star. I shared my findings with Traci, and her response was priceless. “I told you that you should’ve packed some linen and dress shoes,” she said. “Maybe next time.” I sat there grinning, because she didn’t say it was too expensive (it is!), or too snooty (it is!), or anything of the sort. It takes a special kind of woman to sprinkle water and sunshine on one’s daydreams in order for them to bloom and blossom. Indeed. And yes, the Greenbrier has been put on our list of places to go…
