Dancing at the Cowboy Bar

We had a lovely night in Bandera. Took the new camper there to give it it's maiden voyage. Chose Bandera because it was close enough to the side of San Antonio where our friend was having major surgery, yet not in the city. We are both city-adverse most of the time. The park where we stayed was on the Medina River, a pretty river and wider at Bandera because of a Weir dam to slow its descent through the hills around there. We had both animals with us. Our camping kitty seemed enthralled with the new trailer, but the dog felt otherwise, mainly about the kitty being in such close proximity. I took her for long walks to keep her pouts to a minimum. She even took a wading stroll through along a shallow pebble bar, got in up to her belly and had to be dried off before we could reenter the trailer. She is such an avid explorer, and enjoys herself doing the least thing, whether it's savoring the taste of the clear Medina or nosing after skittering things underneath brambles.

That evening we bought steaks on our way back from the hospital. I thought we were intending to use the gas grill that came with the new trailer. We had a picnic table at our site and the air had turned cool. But the SO had something else entirely in his mind. He'd done his research, found that the Cowboy Bar, the place where we had stopped for a beer the evening before, still had their "steak night," a tradition he'd learned about on a sales trip five years before. The place had a large back patio with a toss of tables, bars, and various other places to gather around. Six enormous kettle style pits lined the patio, as well as a dance floor and a stage. On steak night, the public is invited to a barbecue party, bring your own steaks, and bottle too if you want something alcoholic besides beer. For $5 you get a plate and plastic silverwear, bread and a salad bar, with one side dish, plus the band and all the music you care to hear.

We arrived ten minutes after the party started. The best tables were already taken, so we opted for two seats on the end of a square bar under a wooden overhang facing the band and dance floor. We brought a bottle of Crown Royal, and my SO went for set-ups. We also had brought two thick rib eyes. I inspected the seasonings table over near the pits. There was everything from lite salt to Monterrey Steak Rub to cajun seasonings. And people were already cooking. The pits were also loaded with a plethora of cooking food: steaks, ribs, sausage, chicken breasts, shrimp kabobs, you name it.

Our tablemates ended up being two couples from Calgary, Alberta Canada. We enjoyed hearing about the places they had been. They were traveling in two Class A motorhomes and were not returning to Canada until mid-May. They were planning to head west towards California once they left Texas, but didn't seem in any rush to get there. They were interested in our new travel trailer and the fact that we were traveling with a dog and cat. They also wanted to hear the SO's rodeo and trailride stories. I thought for a minute he was going to mention me being a writer, but he interpreted the look I gave him just in time, and turned the topic. He knows I would rather my books were not mentioned so quickly in conversation with strangers. He used to do it a lot, until I told him how uncomfortable it makes me to talk about that to people I don't really know. It often takes the spontaneity out of the moment and diverts the conversation onto me and I'd always rather be the observer than the center.

So we seasoned our steaks, and he cooked while I went through the sides line. The salad was fresh but not particularly inventive: lettuce, cherry tomatoes, olives, onions, and crotons. Three kinds of dressing in squeeze bottles. There was a bread basket and tongs. I chose us both yeast rolls that had become kind of flatten, but turned out to be delicious even with cold whipped margerine. Macaroni and cheese was the only other side. The SO cooked our steaks to prefection, as usual, and the food, helped along by our whiskey drinks, seemed especially tasty. Our Canadian friends agreed to watch our jackets and my purse when "Amarillo By Morning" began to be played by the band, whose name I never learned. That song was the first one we ever danced to three years ago, and we've made a deal that we will always dance when we hear it. We've been able to keep that promise so far.

I used to be a good dancer but too many years of not having a partner or enough opportunity has ruined my ability. The SO however is quite stylish on the dancefloor, having that tall charm of his and a long stride. He covers lots of ground quickly, and throws in little grace note steps when you least expect them. I always feel people are watching us when they're probably not at all. But if they are, I suspect it's because of my long tall cowboy and not me, so I usually just try to hang on for the ride, and not stumble on his boots.

We had so much fun. Both of us talked about it after the lights were out at the trailer, with our animals snugged in the bed with us. This is the kind of life I always wanted, and I have it now. I realize every day how lucky I am. Some people never get what they want. Some people never know what they want. I'm not sure I did until the last three years. But this is it. Just this.

Onward ....