Palestinians

Palestine, TX (a considerable distance from Iran, TX, by the way, and pronounced "Palesteen" by locals) is far more peaceful than it's Middle Eastern counterpart. While the town itself is a bit drab, the people are friendly. I stopped here Monday night primarily because I was tired and night had fallen. The cheerful young man, possibly of high school age, at the front desk of Best Western gave me a good rate despite my claiming to be in a party of 2 (a woman traveling alone should be careful about saying she's traveling alone, right?). He peered out at my car and must have wondered where my passenger could possibly be stowed as it is packed bow to stern. Later he ran out to give me my driver's license and glanced again into the car. I almost confessed but decided there was no need. I've stayed two nights and have found the accomodations quite good. Housekeeping even goes to the trouble of fanning the end of the toilet paper roll.

Yesterday I kept mostly to my room as I was dealing with a stomach ailment. This morning I was up quite early and walked over to the diner for my complimentary hot breakfast. A man came in as I was munching my delicious bacon and eggs and tapping away on my computer, took a seat at a nearby table, and began remarking upon today's "machinery." Eventually I realized he was referring to my little computer. Soon this (clearly local) man had told me his age (79) and a good deal of his adult history. (This, folks, is one reason I can't imagine living outside of the South; I adore the friendliness...sometimes mistaken as nosiness...of Southerners!) Another man, probably in his mid-60s, was occasionally included in the conversations. I felt safe enough to give up a little info about my travel plans. Man #1 asked if I am single (okay, so Southerners may be a little nosy) and I confessed I was, to which he replied that I certainly wouldn't be for long. Ah yes, I must remember throughout my journey to drop in at diners when I need a safe dose of flattery.

As I prepared to leave the diner, I called out, "Where should I go for an oil change?" Man #2 immediately piped up with "Palestine Oil & Lube" which was seconded by Man #1. The former told me he has a business repairing RVs and he takes his cars to PO&L. I thanked them both and as I was nearing the door, Man #2 told me where his business is located and suggested I stop by; said I would likely enjoying talking with his secretary. Of course, I will not but I did get a quick oil change at PO&L where more people struck up conversations with me. Always, people want to know where I'm from and where I'm going. (Don't worry, I am being careful about what I say and to whom; and will certainly be less forthcoming in the campgrounds and the woods.) The woman at the counter thought my adventure exciting and suggested that I write a book afterward. I assured her I will try.