Miss Terry and I were friends for many years before there was ever any romantic involvement between us. She told me once that after a bad marriage, she had been single for 14 years, because Mr. Right never came along.
Apparently, I am Mr. Right, because once we did make a connection on more than a platonic level our relationship moved right along, and even though neither one of us was looking for something it all seemed to click and before we knew it we were married. Yes, after all those years as a single woman, she married Mr. Right. The thing is, at the time, she didn’t know that my first name is Always.
And after 21 years of wedded bliss, she still sometimes forgets that. Yesterday was a good example. We were out running errands, and when we got them done, Terry mentioned that she had found a reference to a place online called Pioneer Fiber Mill in New Smyrna Beach. As a weaver, a knitter, and a dedicated fiber junkie, she was surprised to find that out, since we have not found any kind of yarn shop anywhere near us.
We called up directions on her cell phone and set off for the place. Our route took us down some roads we had never been on before, and the first time we missed the address. Since it looked like a residential area, with no commercial buildings, Terry said never mind, wherever it was was probably gone. But I told her no, let’s go take another look. We turned around and went back and saw the address on the mailbox, but it would require a left turn and there was somebody tailgating me so we couldn’t get in. Again, Terry said it just looked like someone’s house and not to go back, but by then I was on a quest. I found someplace else to turn around and went back, and drove down a long dirt driveway, seeing a beautiful large home, but also small signs with arrows pointing past it that said simply Mill. And lo and behold, before we knew it, we were parked at Pioneer Fiber Mill.
The place looked closed, but there was a light on, so after Terry said it looked like there was nobody there, I convinced her that we should at least check it out. The door was unlocked, and as soon as we stepped inside, Terry knew that Mr. Right was right again.
There was a young man feeding wool into a machine and there were piles and bags of raw wool everywhere we looked.
The young man was very friendly, and told us the owners were not there, but we were welcome to look around. In our many years as fulltime RVers we visited quite a few fiber mills around the country, and Terry was delighted to find one right here at home. And when she saw some of the custom yarns they make, she was in love!
It was late in the day and we didn’t want to keep him from his work, so we told the young man that we would be back again when the owners were available. Truth be told, I just need make more room in the back of the Explorer for all the yarn I’m sure Terry is going to want to bring home.
By then we were getting hungry, and we talked about going to Stavros Pizza, our go to place in New Smyrna Beach. But first I wanted to drive down Flagler Avenue and see what the beach looked like in the wake of Hurricane Dorian. Usually Flagler Avenue is busy and it’s just about impossible to find a parking place, but this time around the street was almost deserted. The beach was closed to vehicle access, so we parked for a few minutes in the public parking lot and watched huge waves crashing in. The surfers were definitely having a good time.
Just a block or so from the parking lot there is a place called Flagler Avenue Pizza that is very highly rated on Yelp. We have never gone there before, mostly because the area is always so crowded with tourists and locals. But since it looked almost like a ghost town, I told Terry we should try the pizza place. I could tell she was a little hesitant, because she’s not always wild about trying new things. But I convinced her we should give it a shot. And guess what? Mr. Right was right again!
It’s a small place with a definite beach theme, like everything on Flagler Avenue, and the pizza was absolutely delicious. I would definitely go back again, and so would Terry.
Back at home, I got the garbage cans out of the garage and put them on the street where they belong for pickup today, then we picked up some palm fronds and Spanish moss the wind had blown down and added it to the trash. Then we moved all of the improvised sandbags we had made into the garage in case we need them for any more storms this year.
After that was done, I decided to air up the tires on the Explorer, Terry’s Pacifica, and my Mustang, since they were all down a bit for some reason. While I was doing that our neighbor Chris Fisher from across the street came over to say hi and ask if we needed any help, and we chatted with him for a bit. Being a bachelor, I suspected Chris might appreciate a good home-cooked treat, so I suggested Miss Terry give him some of the cookies she had baked in anticipation of the hurricane. An hour or so later Chris posted this on Facebook: “Nick Russell you have convinced me of the greatness of Miss Terry’s cookies. A man could get addicted to them! Thank You Miss Terry!”
Yes, Mr. Right strikes again. I keep telling people the world would be such a better place if everybody would just listen to me. After all, I am Mr. Right.
In less than 24 hours over 50 people have entered our latest Free Drawing. This week’s prize is an autographed copy of Big Lake, my first novel and the book that made me a New York Times bestselling author. This particular book is a bit special, because it’s the last one I have with the original cover, before I commissioned Elizabeth Mackey to redo my earlier covers and make all future ones. To enter, click on this Free Drawing link or the tab at the top of this page and enter your name (first and last) in the comments section at the bottom of that page (not this one). Only one entry per person per drawing please, and you must enter with your real name. To prevent spam or multiple entries, the names of cartoon or movie characters are not allowed. The winner will be drawn Sunday evening.
Thought For The Day – If at first you don’t succeed, order pizza.