A Smith Boys reunion

Mike, me and Rick. No, the crossing the legs thing wasn't planned. Smith Boys just seem to think alike. Or maybe we just all really needed to pee.

When the going gets tough, you find out who your friends are. For me it was tough going 1,100 miles and up 14 steps a million times. Just happens that my friends are Smith Boys. No contest.

Mo and I are settled in to our new abode tonight. I’m drinking Texas wine and eating pimento cheese; Mo is celebrating that it’s OK here to buy explosives for the Fourth of July. The BK is crazed with excitement over having 200 new boxes to explore.

But we never could have done it without my bros coming to the rescue. Mike, the younger, wrestled a 16-foot truck hauling a Honda through hurricanes, suspicious border guards and a Wendy’s full of crazed Greyhound passengers in Van Horn. He drove a day and a half almost nonstop over an interstate that doubles as a sleeping pill, pausing only occasionally to restock his coffee and Mountain Dew.

Rick, the elder, stepped in to do most of the heavy lifting in Texas after everyone else pooped out. And no matter how tired and hot we were (it’s not so much the heat, it’s the humidity, you know), he was still there with bad jokes and diet Cokes. A pretty fine combination for moving.

After the smoke cleared, they stayed long enough to make sure we were OK, then just rode off into the sunset. They probably stole a bunch of stuff while I wasn’t looking, but that’s OK. Less to tote on the next move.

I’m a lucky guy. It’s against the Guy Code to tell brothers you love them, but if it weren’t I would. But it is so I won’t.

Mo continues to resist the pimento cheese (I had the pimento cheese/Llano wine combo platter for dinner and my life is better for it), but she had her first fried pie today. And flamethrower barbecue sauce. It’s just a matter of time. Texas will wear her down, and then lift her up. It’s a magical place.

Tomorrow I’ll go through enough boxes that I’ll find my running stuff and be back on the road again.

Today I’m just glad to be off of it.

Howdy, Texas. Thanks for taking me back.

And thanks, Smith Boys, for being Smith Boys. I owe you one.

(Unless it involves toting boxes upstairs, in which case you’re on your own.)

Rick’s take on the move, written before we started, is here.

About gary

no sock monkeys were harmed in the making of this blog.
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4 Responses to A Smith Boys reunion

  1. lit chick says:

    I’m glad you’re safe and sound. Sounds like the Smith Boys had everything under control. Now, fried apple pies—that’s something on which we agree! (Please tell me you don’t spread pimento cheese on yours!!)

  2. gdionelli says:

    Nice to know you made it. And with a last name like Smith, how can the moving team go wrong?

  3. Jill says:

    Glad to hear you made it to TX w/o a chime stop in WV! Welcome home, Garbo, Mo and BK!!! May you have tons of happy memories here.

  4. gabe says:

    wooohooo now I have a place to crash in texas on my cross country road trip… Or at least let my hand truck pummel into the back of me.

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