Mr. & Mrs. Hawthorne's Road Trip.

Mr. Hawthorne and I left Saturday morning for a quick weekend trip. Our plan was to go to Greensboro first and drop off Middle Hawthorne's drum set (YAY! Got rid of some crap in utility room.), then Mr. H. would drop me off in Danville (for Mama Hawthorne's birthday), and he would continue to on to visit his Mommy.

We're leaving the Outer Banks heading to the Mainland.

This is the longest bridge in the state of North Carolina - 5.2 miles spanning the Croatan Sound. I didn't have breakfast this morning since I was so busy PACKING, CLEANING the house, and LOADING the drum set into the back of my truck. So, by the time we hit Rocky Mount, I was hungry. What to eat? What to eat? As usual, I wanted Chinese. Mr. H.: "There aren't any Chinese restaurants in Rocky Mount." RH: "What do you mean, there're no Chinese restaurants here? Of course there're Chinese restaurants here." Mr. H.: "Then find one." RH: "OK, I will." And I hit Where To on the Garmin GPS and lo and behold, there's a Chinese restaurant right off the main drag. So we drive to the Chinese restaurant, get out of the truck, go up to the restaurant, and shoot, it's a take out. I didn't want to eat in the truck. Plus, all the pictures of the meals over top of the counter were all bleached out. So's we get back in the truck and back track to another restaurant we'd seen on the way - Gardner's. Mr. Hawthorne had seen the marquee- FRIED FISH. I didn't want anything fried, but I'm hungry. We go in to Gardner's. I look at the menu printed on top of the wall and there is NOTHING there I would want to eat. I do not want fried fish. I do not want butter beans. I do not want greens. I do not want fried chicken. I do not want mashed potatoes. I do not want barbecue. I do not want a heavy meal. Pauler Dean would've been in hog-heaven here. I immediately tell Mr. H. that I'm not eating here and leave him standing at the counter looking stupid while I go back out to the truck. The only thing left is Hardee's. I hate Hardee's, MacDonalds, and Burger King. OK, I like Burger King fries. I admit it. Kill me now. So it's Hardee's or nothing. And I'm desperate. And very hungry. Crap, I don't know how to order at Hardees. Then, I see up there on the glossy pictures, Prime Rib Burger. Hmmmm, I think to myself. Prime Rib Burger. Could it really be? Now, being a non-fast-food elitist snob (There. I admit it.), I'm actually thinking that I'm going to get ground up prime rib. I know. I'm an idiot. We get #50, pour our drinks, and I go to a table in the corner, isolated from everyone in the room. I'm watching Mr. Hawthorne, who should have known I got my tea first, and he's coming back with his coke, then just picks a table in the midst of everybody else. I'm sitting in the corner by myself. He doesn't bother to look around to see where I am. Where does he think I am? Did I just vanish in thin air? I call over to him. Everyone in Hardee's turns to look at me, except Mr. Hawthorne. He's just happily sitting by himself at his little table, oblivious to everything. I'm wondering how long he would sit there by himself and not even notice that I'm not there, so, knowing it would be during the entire meal, I finally get up, walk over to his table, and tell him to move his butt over to where I wanted to sit. "Oh, I didn't see you." "Well, you didn't bother to look." "Yes I did." "No. You didn't." To make a long story longer, #53, 52, and 51 get served before us. Finally, we get served. My Prime Rib Burger smells ... off. Can't put my finger on it. But there's definitely an odour. I bite into my Prime Rib Burger. It tastes like crap. Now, one of the reasons I ordered this particular entree, was because it said Prime Rib, plus it didn't have a regular hamburger bun, but something special which I can't remember the name of and when I went to Hardee's website I still couldn't find it. Anyways, I ordered it and hated it. The bread was good though. I peeled back the bread to see what the horrible taste was. It.Was.Deli.Meat. I.Hate.Deli.Meat. Apparently, the deli meat was the "prime rib" part. Have you ever looked at roast beef deli meat? It looks like it has an oil slick on it. It is disgusting. I could not eat my Prime Rib Burger. It sucked. Apparently, Mr. Hawthorne could eat his hot dog and chili AND my nasty hamburger. We got back in the truck. RH: "I'm hungry." Mr. H.: "Shut the hell up." RH: "Well, I guess I'll just have some water to fill me up." Mr. H.: "SHUT UP." We continued on to Greensboro to Middle Hawthorne's digs. The boys got the drum set out while I cleaned up the kitchen. Every pot, every pan, every bowl, every plate, every fork, knife, and spoon were stacked on the counter and in the sink - DIRTY. I filled up the dishwasher and washed everything else leftover, picked up the miscellaneous bills no one had bothered to pay and left for Danville. These boys are freakin' slobs. Yeah, I know, big surprise there. Got to Danville around 4PM. Just in time to load Mama Hawthorne into the car to take her to Brother Hawthorne's farm where a big shindig was underway. Nephew Hawthorne was having a big barbecue cookout for all his clients, catered by Tater Bugs.

Here's the view from the hill at Brother Hawthorne's.

Here's Brother Hawthorne and Great Nephew Hawthorne, Noah, and the miniature horses.

Brother Hawthorne's mules.

Sister Hawthorne, Lillie, and Unknown Driver of the Mules.

Nephews Hawthorne with their Mama, SisterInLaw Hawthorne.

Mama Hawthorne, holding court from her car.

View from the top.

It's a Par-Tay.

Brother Hawthorne and his Grandson Noah.

Brother Hawthorne and his other Grandson, Great Nephew Hawthorne, Cole. This was quite a fun party. I drove Mama Hawthorne home, then left for dear friend Maxine's to spend the night. The next morning, Maxine and I took our usual river walk. Please enjoy my pics and I'll just shut up.

The next day, I spent at Mama Hawthorne's, preparing lunch for her and Sister. Lunch was a fresh, light, flavorful, and lovely Asian salad and a delicious Blue Cheese Souffle.

Here's Great-Nephew Hawthorne, Cole, playing with Mama Hawthorne's birthday balloon. Oh, and Cole is sitting on a carriage stone.

Now, People, people, people. Why would you even think I wouldn't make Mama Hawthorne a cake for her birthday? OK, so it's not an actual cake. It's TIRAMISU. It was delicious. And that's a musical candle in the middle. Mr. Hawthorne and I left this morning for home - about a 5-6 hour drive. Oh wait. We saw a sign along the road on 86S for Pick-Your-Own-Blueberries.

Now, if my basic Greek is functioning, this sign means Lover of Strangers.

The directions and instructions are a bit strange, but we enter the blueberry orchard anyways.

I've never seen blueberry bushes this big.

Mr. Hawthorne picking blueberries.

Look at these babies. Sweet and delicious. Guess I'll be blogging a blueberry dish tomorrow. I'm thinking a blueberry tart, with lemon or lime curd. I'll work on that later.

I love these Southern places, where you go and pick, and are on the honor system to weigh them and stick the money in the slot.

Three pounds - Six Dollars - of fresh, wonderful blueberries. Such a treat. (They're $4.99 for less than a pint at Food Lion.) We head back on the road.

At a stop light on Hwy 70 which bypasses Durham, I saw this sign. I'll save that number for when my daughter gets married. NOT. We finally got home about 4PM. We had a friend house-sitting and baby-sitting for Dixie. Thanks, Carol! It's SO nice to come home to a clean house. I opened the front door, came up the steps, and, instead of Dixie being at the top of the steps, greeting me, she was soaking wet, lying on our couch. Apparently, she and Carol had a lot of fun at the pool. Carol had Dixie's blankie out on the floor in front of the slider, but Dixie had hopped up on the sheepskins and cow skins on the couch. She was exhausted and didn't even bother to bark when I came in the front door. When she saw who it was, though, she ran outside and did her Happy Dance. I love Dixie's Happy Dance.

Here's Sweet Dixie with her head in my lap. She's happy. I'm happy. It's good to be home.