We had a great time at Kenny's house last night. His mom, dad, aunt, cousin, and niece were there, and a few other friends dropped by while we were there. Kenny hadn't been back home for over two years. This place is where he grew up, and his parents have lived here for over 40 years. His mom and her sister are twins, and they both married men named Leonard, which became "My Leonard" and "Your Leonard" depending on which sister was speaking.

It was a wonderful feast of veggies and boiled chicken over rice, with baked chicken and salad, rolls, and apple pie for dessert. Mmmm...it was great having some real home cookin'. After stuffing ourselves and downing a few beers, Jesse ended up on the floor with his bare belly up, while Terry, Your/My Leonard and I discussed everything from the weather to child rearing to solving social problems. Both men came from strict patriarch families who ruled with iron fists and used them on their children, so the inevitable corporal punishment argument came up. Being a staunch advocate for communication with language vs. fists, I made the point that children need structure, yes, but with adequate communication and demonstrated love, there is no need for violence in the home. I'm sure I came off like some sort of pansy-pacifist, but, hey, that's what I believe.

During a lull in the socio-politics, I strolled down to the basement rec room where Your/My Leonard was watching women's bowling on ESPN. He's an avid bowler, going to the lanes once a week. We talked a bit about basketball and, of course, the Pistons and the Trailblazers...

I sauntered back upstairs where Jesse had made it off the floor and onto the living room couch with his belly up playing Kenny's bass, and the twins were deep into rum, Coke, beer and family history. Kenny's mom's sister (dang, can't remember her name), tried to set Terry up with a friend of hers, who apparently was supposed to have dropped by. Both women are in their mid-60s, but look 20 years younger than that, and were jolly and intense with stories of a road trip to California gone bad, husband handling, and all accompanied by a dash through some photo albums.

Kenny's niece, Maya, with wide eyes announced that Granddaddy was sleeping in his chair downstairs with his mouth open, and that she was going to put a Cheerio in it. The idea was quickly extinguished as choking scenarios floated through everyone's minds. Hugs were delivered to Maya all around to send her off to bed, and shortly, Terry had the van keys in his hand.

Hugs continued and an invitation to return on Sunday as we headed to New York after this coming weekend's Chicago gig. So it'll be back again for some more great cookin'!

Today was laundry day, and we all piled into the van with our respective bags of ripe clothing. The laundromat the hotel clerk had told me about, and the target of my failed reconnaissance walk yesterday, turned out to be only another 100 yards from where I had elected to turn back. Duh. After loading the washers and checking out the dryers I decided the laundromat business must be pretty lucrative. It was $1.50 per machine to wash (I had to use two), and the driers only managed 6 minutes of dry time per quarter. Geez...then there was the soap--another dollar, and I saw my lunch money literally wash away. There was a 99¢ store in the same mall we visited while awaiting the machines, and I ended up in the pathetic situation of only managing to DREAM about items for sale there I would have gotten if I could have spent 99 damn-cents! Ah yes, the rigors of the road...

As it turned out, the driers were the real money makers. I poured in four quarters for my medium-sized load--that was 24 minutes of drying time--on HIGH. At the end of that, my clothes were still pretty damn damp. Everyone else had finished and was waiting in the van for me, plus, I wasn't going to donate yet another quarter to the Florida vacation of the laundromat's owner, so I stuffed my stuff into my bag and loaded out. When I returned to the room I simply laid out the dampest articles and turned on the room fans.

After laundry-time, Terry and Jeff took off for more "rice," Jesse opted to work on a new song he was writing, and I decided to take a long walk to the Kroger's store north of here and bag a few more apples, oranges and maybe, if they were on sale, an avocado or two--and, oh yes, raisins--a staple fare of the road. It was about a two-mile walk to the store, and after checking out the prices, I realized that without a "Kroger Preferred" card, I was going to be paying top dollar for the simplest of foods. The avos were $1.50 apiece WITH the card, so I passed on that, but saw cans of tuna, two for a dollar, so I grabbed them (of course, I didn't noticed they were a buck apiece without the CARD).

There were lines of customers trying to checkout, and I swear the checkout guy was the slowest one I have ever seen. He was hyper-methodical and careful, gingerly sliding each item past the code reader with a look of deep concentration on his face. I thought maybe he was tripping on acid or something, but he didn't seem anxious. Downers, maybe? I dunno. There weren't any baggers, either, so once he had checked out the customer, he would s-l-o-w-l-y walk around to the head of the counter to carefully bag each item like they were gold-plated Easter eggs. I, of course, had no card, so when asked by Mr. Sloth, I said, "Nope, just visiting." Rather than offer a semblance of hospitality such as giving me the discounts anyway, or welcoming me to lovely Warren, Michigan, he stated flatly, like a bad TV commercial, "You won't get the great bargains without the card." To which I was moved to say, "Well, gee, I can't help that now can I?" While in line earlier, after the first minute or so of watching this guy, I had looked at my watch. By the time I was out of the store with my meager purchases, 24 minutes had elapsed!

...And, I had forgotten the raisins! I considered going back, but the idea of going through the Kroger time warp didn't seem like much fun, so I headed back to Red Roof, assuming I could find raisins somewhere along two solid miles of Detroit strip malls. I made five stops, mostly at convenience stores. No raisins. Here's my question: Didn't the National Raisin Council, or whoever that is, make a point that raisins are one of America's premiere SNACK FOODS? Why don't convenience stores carry raisins? They're cheap, plentiful, and practically immortal. They DO carry other snacks like nuts, popcorn, and some even have apples and bananas...but no raisins. This is a curious situation, and has got me worried about the anti-raisin cartel that surely must be a helluva lot more active than the National Raisin Council! I returned to No. 111 raisin-less...