The Laurel-Crowned Princess, Epilogue

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Before we move into our story....

Okay, this is the last chapter of the my story to the world: the science fiction, autobiographical dramedy 'The Laurel Crowned Princess'.

February is Black History Month.

For the entire month of February, I'm going to post information about important Black people, particularly within the field of music, specifically within the field of jazz organ. But they won't all be jazz organists-for example, Stanley Turrentine is a legendary sax player that played with many jazz organists, particulary Jimmy Smith, and was married to another jazz organist, Shirley Scott.

I will be indebted to Pete Fallico, a jazz organ promoter, historian, liner note writer, promoter, and his website,
www. doodlinlounge.com for most of the auto biographical information.

Today's contribution to Black History Month 2006-informing or reminding you, the gentle reader, that the month of February is Black History Month.

Now back to our story, already in progress and rapidly concluding.

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I love waking up late.

I love waking up late on a beautiful day and having the sunlight pour in past the window curtains.

Because I had stayed up late journaling the night before I didn't get to sleep as soon as I had desired.

Check out was 11:00 AM, I think I pushed that. The manager of the motel strongly encouraged me to wait in the lobby until my dad showed up.

I also remember that the motel manager had an old vintage Cadillac that was either owned by or had something to do with Elvis.

Most old nice Cadillacs apparently have had something to do with Elvis at one time or another.

If you ever need to stop in New Salem, TX, go to the truck stop cafe off I-20. I recommend the Beef Stroganoff. The cafe is on the North side of the freeway. You can't miss it, its the biggest business in New Salem, with the possible exception of the cemetery.

Cute waitressees, too. You can't beat a small town girl, sometimes.

It's within walking distance of the truck/auto repair business, which is across the street on the East side of the truck stop and directly across the freeway from the truck stop motel.

You only need cross the freeway at the overpass bridge that runs over the freeway.

Being stranded in a small town is a helpless feeling as you walk along the access road of a freeway. Everybody in the world seems to be passing you by as you walk along the road, and it might even seem that you may have to live in this new place for the rest of your life.

Dad wasn't real happy receiving just one day's notice that he would need to come to Abilene to tow me and the Impala back to Beaumont.

We got a tow bar jack from Abilene, and drove all the way back to Beaumont the next day.

The 68 Impala riding on the back bumper looked pretty intimidating, even from the viewpoint of my dad's Plymouth van.

We made it back to Beaumont without further incident.

I visited back to Abilene a few more times after that, but I haven't returned in several years, only to visit my sister Deana and my brother-in-law Chad after my niece was born.

The last time I was there I got the stomach flu.

I guess I've since decided that it is better to look forward than behind, but it's taken me me awhile to come to that conclusion.

Letting go of an age old apparition is like letting go of an old friend.

I ended up selling both the 1957 Chevy and the 1968 Chevy, but I always wish that I had just put even a used motor in the 68, because the rest of the car was really nice, and I enjoyed driving it around.

With the money I bought a good road bike and a nice 1988 Toyota Pickup that lasted me quite awhile.


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Afterword or Why I Really Like This Story

Initially I was going to do a purely factual account of the information contained in the preceding chapters. And I may yet post that version sometime in the future.

For now, this ended up being a lot more interesting and I was able to learn some new things about the experience.

I no longer feel sorry for myself for not finishing school in Abilene. It actually worked to my favor, and you can read that

here.

I had written a wild west version where I had beaten the short man, and appointed the bartender as mayor, but, it just didn't work.

If I ever come back to this story I will flesh out the fight scene a little more...give it more tension so the reader will wonder if I'll make it or not.

In some ways the story isn't over.

My Grandpa's role is one of my favorite parts of the whole story.

I love the way that time is loosely interpreted, it starts and ends in the late 80s, but goes to this no-man's land in the sand, and from there we visit, from a different perspective real events that happened in my grandparent's house and my previous college.

When I return to the desert it has become a wild west town where I try to duke it out with the short man. Then we're back at the I-20 truck stop.

Stay tuned for a possible Part II?

Not at least until after Black History Month....