A Belated Eulogy for the Palomino Club

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This is my tribute to the Palomino Club in Greensboro, NC--the place where I grew up, the place that formed me into a brassier woman, the place where I became wise in the ways of the world--in other words, wise in the ways of men. This is my tribute to the place I loved to dance, sweat, and twirl around the hardwood floor in the arms of the country men of Carolina; the place where I breathed in my share of second-hand smoke, drank a few Bud Lites but many more bottled waters, and had my hand stamped with an "X" and later with the over-21 Palomino mark. But most of all, this was the place where my boots would step, slide, scuff, stomp, shuffle, rock, grapevine, dig, turn, pivot, twirl, and otherwise make their mark on the dance floor. Man, I loved to dance!

"I'm a member of a country club, country music is what I love." ~ Travis Tritt

The building itself was not very noteworthy--marked by a modest neon sign out front (along with the "park in rear" sign)-- and the parking lot was riddled with giant potholes. Evidently it was a roller skating rink in its previous incarnation. You walked in the front door, showed your membership card and license, signed in, paid the cover charge, got your hand stamped, and in the colder months checked your Carhart jacket. To the immediate left was the women's bathroom with the men's on the right. Step around the partition, and you entered the club at the back of the room near one of the three bars--with another bar on the right side and one near the D.J. on the left. On the far wall was the stage, with live music. Some chairs and tables lined the back and sides of the room, with Amos the mechanical bull and a few pool tables on the right side near the entrance. And in the middle by the stage was the much-used hardwood floor, with a rail forming a ring around the outside for the two-steppers.

"My Boots" Oil Painting, Fall 1996
2nd Place, Boone's Mill Apple Festival

My first visit to the Palomino was with a girlfriend of mine, Kaitlyn, and another friend of hers after their high school graduation--June of 1995. I was home from my first year of college. One night at the Palomino, and we were hooked. Afterwards, we went as often as possible, even when I returned to college (an hour and a half north in VA) and after my folks moved south to Charlotte and I spent my breaks there. When I got married in 2000, I moved too far away to go, but I always liked the idea that the Palomino was still there, and that I could go on my way through town if I really got the itch. It was comforting to think of the guys I knew still there, hanging out, playing pool (assuming they hadn't settled down by then). That thought was nice . . . until a few weeks ago, when I learned that the Palomino club was razed in July of 2000. I paid $2.95 to get the details from the Greensboro News & Record archives. The Palomino was demolished, and storage units were put in its place. I am devastated.

"Life's a dance, you learn as you go. Sometimes you lead, and sometimes you follow." ~ John Michael Montgomery

Kaitlyn is a blonde blue-eyed beauty to my brunette and hazel. We are both very tall and stood out over most of the women in the club, and many of the men. Together we made quite a pair, a dynamic duo. The beautiful thing about my friendship with Kaitlyn was that we always were attracted to, and attracted, different men. We never had a conflict over any guy. We always stuck together and always went home together. Sometimes going home included a stop for breakfast with the guys, sometimes we sent our phone numbers home with someone new, but for us it was always a girls' night out. We loved country music and loved to dance. We took every opportunity to get out on the floor when our favorite songs came on. The perfect nights seemed to start when we would hear the first few bars of T-R-O-U-B-L-E as soon as we signed in at the front door.

Tracy Byrd playing at the Palomino

There were plenty of concerts that we saw at the Palomino...I know I can't remember them all: Tracy Byrd, Shenandoah, Rick Trevino, Rhett Akins, and Chris LeDoux (twice! He threw carnations out to the women). Kaitlyn and I also went to see George Strait at the Greensboro Coliseum, and Brooks & Dunn in Raleigh--an evening and a car accident I will never forget. Another of Kaitlyn's friends, Bethany, often joined us at the Palomino. One summer the three of us made a pilgrimage to Nashville. We went to the Country Music Hall of Fame (saw Alan Jackson's jeans from the Chattahoochee video), did some shopping, and danced the nights away (but not at the Wildhorse--we were too young to get in there unaccompanied.)

"She's a devil, she's an angel, she's a woman, she's a child. She's a heartache when she leaves you, but she'll leave you with a smile." ~ George Strait

During my junior year in college, Kaitlyn moved to Texas for a while, then joined the Marine Reserves. I mailed a plethora of letters to her while she was in boot camp in Parris Island, along with collages and reminders of our Palomino adventures. She would write when she could. During her absence, I still went dancing when I could find someone to go with. I remember going with Davina, a gal from college, and her two Marine buddies, Eric and Dave, from Camp LeJeune. We had a full night of dancing, had to call a locksmith to get into the car, stopped by the Waffle House, got back to college at dawn, and I drew a sketch of Dave while we talked before calling it a night. When Kaitlyn graduated from boot camp 2nd in her platoon (who knew such a beautiful lady could be so tough?) we had a grand reunion at--where else?--the Palomino. For a belated celebration of my 21st birthday, she bought me a couple Bud Lites, and we danced 'til "Happy Trails" came on at closing and they kicked us out.

"Kaitlyn and Me", Oil Painting, Spring 1997
2nd Place, Ferrum College Student Art Show

Also, there were the men. There's just not a Palomino without the men. I could never forget them, but forgive me--I can't recall all the names. Roy was a constant, always there to talk to in between dances, with his circle of friends. Tex was also there, especially towards the end of our heyday, and was a good two-step partner (not always an easy thing to find). Adam, too--I remember going to breakfast with them once, when Adam gifted me with some fairly severe but amusing caricatures. Dean and I danced occasionally--he was just getting over a serious relationship (but who wasn't?). Robbie, Scott, and a multitude of nameless faces, including the three sexy men I danced with on my 20th, and who gave me birthday kisses.

"I could've missed the pain, but I would've missed the dance." ~ Garth Brooks

Sexy men, plain men, sweet men, scary men, young men, old men, tall men (my most uncomfortable slow dance ever was with this really tall guy who was too used to bending over to dance with short women), short men (who did try but never really had a chance with either one of us), blue-collar, white-collar, guys with the tight cowboy-cut Wranglers (mmm!), guys with really tight "spray-on" Wranglers (uh...no!), guys with cowboy boots, many with cowboy hats, the rodeo men and bull-riders with the dinner-plate belt buckles who really did it up during the Tush-Push, the guys who would line-dance and the ones who preferred to watch the women, the guys who were good two-steppers (loved them!), and the ones who, sadly, only thought they were.

"Autumn Meditation" Watercolor Painting, Fall 1998
People's Choice and 1st Place, Ferrum College Student Art Show

And then there were the men we dated. I'll let Kaitlyn tell her own stories--I'll just say she never lacked for someone interested in her. Of the handful of men I dated from the Palomino, there were a few of special note. There was Will, the army guy who lied about his age to go out with me (he was actually 30, not 25). My sister found us on New Year's Eve asleep on the couch and ratted me out to my folks when they came home. Kaitlyn died of laughter when my mother, after my dad left the room, leaned over and asked "How was his body?" There was Keith, my Bryan White look-alike, who never stopped laughing--I remember him going with me to buy art supplies while it was pouring rain outside. I remember him laughing, always laughing. There was David, who came to visit me at college and showed up in part of his fireman gear (SEXY!) and later drove us down to the Palomino and back. And last but certainly not least, Mike, another fireman, who seemed so nervous with me, especially after my mother whipped out the video camera on him when he arrived at the house (really, Mom!). Mike was a sweetheart and I was always glad for a dance with him. The men who treated me with respect quickly won a place in my heart, and I hated breaking their hearts or my own by saying goodbye.

"We all take different paths in life, but no matter where you go, you take a little bit of each other everywhere you go." ~ Tim McGraw

As I said, I grew up at the Palomino. I went into my Palomino days young, naive, and clueless when a guy was interested in me. I left a few years older and a much wiser woman. I learned what kind of men to avoid and which ones were worth spending time with. I learned to say "no" politely, and how to say "NO" not-so-politely when necessary. I learned to trust my instincts. I learned that everyone there was hurting in some way, and so I learned compassion, both for others and for myself. I learned to see beyond appearances. I learned that girlfriends are often there when a man is not. I learned to trust my girlfriends' instincts. I learned that when a man is overly and irrationally jealous, then it is probably more of a reflection of his actions than one's own. I learned that although I may give my heart to a man, I belonged, first of all, to myself and to my God, and ultimately would have to answer only to my own conscience. I learned to live without regrets. I learned that I am most beautiful when I cast off any self-consciousness and just be myself and have fun.


Time went on and eventually Kaitlyn and I found the men we would marry. Our times together became less frequent. We had one last girls' night out at the Palomino, and in 2000 were married within a month of each other. I said goodbye to the Palomino back then, but always thought I would step out onto that hardwood floor again someday. Alas, within a few months of my wedding it no longer even existed. And although there are other country bars in the world, it could never be our old Palomino. So now, I raise my glass (a stiff Jack and Coke) in a toast to all the good ol' days:

Goodnight, Palomino. And to all the Palomino men, to the Palomino ladies, to everyone else who loves to move your boots on a hardwood floor when you hear the fiddle and steel guitar, and especially to Kaitlyn--Happy Trails to you, until we meet again.

"You can take the girl out of the honky tonk, but you can't take the honky tonk [out of the girl]" ~ Brooks & Dunn

Hospital (in)efficiency: a case study

I'll just give you a few examples. Keep in mind, this is a company with a focus on providing excellent service. They even ask each patient what their definition of 'excellence' is, so my sister's board read "excellence = a quick response to my request." Maybe she should have said "excellence = not forgetting to feed me." I was there twice when they came to collect her meal trays . . . but hadn't delivered one in the first place. (Then it took so long to get paperwork done to release her, it was past lunchtime by the time we left.) Granted, she was fairly nauseous and the food wasn't staying down well, so she passed on them bringing her anything at that point other than some saltine crackers. However, one should be able to turn down a real meal in a timely manner rather than being teased about its existence in the first place. Then as we were leaving, the aide asked if I had my parking ticket for her to validate. Validate? It would have been nice to know that ahead of time so I would have it with me rather than in the car. So, we need to add to the sign "Excellence = not assuming every out-of-state visitor knows the parking policies and/or can read minds." If there had even been any kind of sign in the garage, you can bet I would have brought it with me rather than pay $3 both yesterday and today for parking. Why do they collect money for parking anyway, if patients and visitors can have it validated? This IS the parking garage for patients and visitors. Whatever. The whole point of moving my sister to this hospital in the first place was for her surgery . . . which was cancelled after consultation with a key doctor. In brief, it's a potentially risky procedure for pregnant women. That's right, I'm going to be an aunt again!

Who has time to work?

This has been a crazy week for me, although it started out simply enough. Working at the barn (Thursday all 15 stalls got done although I was pretty spent), my community circle (small group from church) where we all got to catch up with each other for the last time before summer, some unintended shopping in old town for used books and a new necklace (it called my name, I swear), CSA distribution which resulted in some great conversations and networking, viewing "Tibet: Cry of the Snow Lion" with my meditation group (that left me emotionally drained), a riding lesson made memorable when one of the dump trucks blew a tire and my horse jumped sideways about 3 feet (but thankfully didn't bolt), leadership conference at church Friday night and all day Saturday (as I am a newly elected member of the board of trustees), pizza at Basil's Bistro with friends, going out to see "Prince Caspian" (awesome!), getting the car worked on and reading over half of Prince Caspian during those 2 hours (since I couldn't remember how closely the movie followed the book).

At one point during the week--perhaps when planning with a friend to do some painting together--I began to wonder "Who has time to work?" My job always seemed to suck the creative energy out of me. Now that I'm vocationally challenged (i.e. haven't started looking for a new job in earnest), I'm filling my time with a lot of the things I always said I wanted to. Don't get too jealous--an hour spent paying bills and balancing the checkbook quickly renewed my guilt over not having a paying gig. I'm still hoping to squeeze that week at the beach in before I'm locked down again. Hey--10 years is too long to go without gazing at the ocean sunrise and immersing in her salty depths.

Me and my sister in our younger years.

Now, all this by itself would have made for a good week. But, as some of you already know, these events were quickly overshadowed with weightier concerns. My sister was sent to the hospital Tuesday evening when the doctors figured out that her shortness of breath and leg pain was due to blood clots in her leg and lungs. She is still in the hospital, and tomorrow is having surgery on a rather large clot in her leg. Meanwhile, my husband traveled out of state with his mom to attend his grandmother's estate sale--a very emotional event for both of them. Emotional and physical stress can build when you're not looking and cause you to crash when you're least expecting it. This literally manifested when I rear-ended someone on my way home from the barn on Friday. I was definitely not abiding in the present moment.

I left for Carolina to be with my sister today, and made the trip in record time. I feel very lucky, right now, to not have a job calling me home in a few days. I will be able to be here with my niece and see my sister through the next week without that outside pressure. I am also hoping to reacquaint myself with the Queen City, which captured a deep part of my heart in spite of my reluctance during the few years I lived here.

Charlotte sunset in '99.

On sweat and stubbornness, horses and ponies.

I thought that last Saturday I had experienced the ultimate in sweating. Not rivulets of sweat, mind you, but a deluge of sweat. Saturday was my last day at the strawberry farm and the forecast predicted100 degree temperatures by 1pm (not counting the heat index). I was at work from 8:45 to 1:30, and although I had some shade I could retreat to, was in direct sun for much of the time. Within 30 minutes I had a sheen of sweat covering all exposed parts of my body. The sweat mark on my shirt grew steadily throughout the morning, until only a few portions on the side could be considered dry. The heat, and my general despondency on it being the last day, did affect my spirits more than usual.

After work I took a quick shower, then proceeded to another outdoor event--our baby cousin's 3rd birthday party. I had been volunteered to assist with the PONY RIDES. I cannot tell you how tickled I was. This was actually my dream birthday party, only 20 or 25 years too late. I walked Merrylegs back and forth with the little kids riding atop. That was about 2 more hours of sweating, mostly in the shade, but still IT WAS 100 DEGREES outside. I have never enjoyed a 3 year old's birthday party more. By the end of the afternoon I had an open invitation to Pony Patch Farm in Culpepper to ride, brush, or just hang out with the horse and ponies, along with the promise of gift certificates to bring my young friends for pony rides (lucky tykes).

After that I took another shower, as I was going to a friend's house for a movie ("Antonia's Line"--wonderful!) and then out for drinks with my husband and his friend Katie, who had just landed a new job. It got pretty warm in the Bourbon Room, but nothing like what I'd experienced that day. I was still drinking water constantly--I had a really great bartender and he kept refilling my cup. By 12:30 am my main concern was getting home in time to pee, since Katie and I had braved the bathroom once and didn't want to have a second go. (For all those who are worried, I made it.)

Although the weather maintained its stifling status over the past few days, I was mostly indoors, or just walking about downtown, so the heat barely bothered me. I say 'barely' but what I mean to say is that I certainly noticed it, but wasn't wilting in my normal fashion. I'm normally a wilting flower in the heat. Evidently I have thin blood vessels, so not only is it difficult for the Red Cross to get any blood out of me when I attempt to donate (I've not been brave enough after the one time, since taking that half pint drained me of energy the whole evening!), but I also get cold and hot easily. Steven can testify how I complain when the heat gets to me--we usually play thermostat wars. This must be the first year I've set the thermostat anywhere over 72 during the heat. Yesterday I pushed it up to 84 and felt that was 'reasonable' considering the outside temperature. My cats hate me.

So, I didn't think too much of the heat when I volunteered to work at the barn, mucking stalls, in lieu of paying for riding lessons. Forget that I usually don't take lessons during the summer because of the whole wilting flower issue. I felt I had been conditioned enough, and last Friday's lesson (in balmy upper 70's, low 80's temperatures) went so well that I couldn't see waiting another month for another. And, since I don't have another job lined up, working would ease my conscience and get me out of the house 3 days a week.

It's been a decade since I've mucked stalls, and 13 years since I did so with any regularity. I used to water and muck at the college stables for my work study job. I was always jealous of the people who had easy jobs and could do their homework while on the clock, but I wouldn't have traded it. I loved horses too much. Back then I had about 2 1/2 hours to work before I needed to get back to my dorm, shower, nap, and then go to class. The nap was essential or I would fall asleep in class every single time. I'm not the fastest at mucking stalls, but I do a good job. I have Della to thank for that. She taught me how, and she's one meticulous, dedicated horse woman.

Cowboy in his stall.

So I arrived at Blue Ribbon Stables this morning at 8am ready to go. I hadn't wanted to get there too early because I wanted to get John's input on the setup and horses, etc. John wasn't around, so I got started with Cowboy, who I know from my lessons. I was a little intimidated--I had 15 stalls to take care of. Supposedly this was only going to take me a couple of hours. I had my doubts, but I plowed ahead. It certainly would take me longer than that the Della way. Remember what I told you earlier about last Saturday's adventures in sweating? Today I was completely drenched in sweat within 30 minutes. Even my jean shorts were getting visibly wet; by the time I left there were only a few dry inches on them. There ought to be a word for this kind of sweating; 'sweat' doesn't cover it and 'perspire' certainly doesn't come close. 'Lather' may be closer, but not by much. (Yes, mom, I was taking frequent water breaks!)

To complicate matters, they are currently bringing in fill dirt to raise the level of the pastures. So lines of dump trucks are coming in, all morning long, bringing tons and tons of dirt. They are driving directly beside the barn, between me and the manure pile. They are leaving huge tracks of mud between me and the manure pile. Occasionally a bobcat would come through and level out the road, but I had a difficult time maneuvering full wheelbarrows of horse manure through those ruts between the barn and the manure pile. Plus I had to time my trips between the trucks. I ended up using both wheelbarrows; filling them up when the trucks were busy and dumping them when the way was clear. All in all it was taking me 20 minutes on average to do each stall, start to finish. Not too bad, I thought, considering I'm out of shape and out of practice.

I got done with the 11 stalls in the main barn. It looked pretty, and I had made many new horsey friends. By this point, I could taste the salt in my sweat and so could the horses. They began to sniff and lick me more than usual. There were 4 stalls left. My muscles were starting to complain, particularly this one knot on my shoulder. But I'd done 11 stalls, certainly 4 more wouldn't be too bad, right? Sure, Heather, great idea. I got to stall #12 and found a beautiful Clydesdale. I fell in love with him immediately. Meeting him may have been worth doing another stall. I love that horse; I want that horse. (I actually do want a pair of draft horses someday.) He was big and very interested in the hay that had fallen outside his stall, so I brought the wheelbarrow all the way in the stall to clean it (I knew I couldn't push him around as easily as the others). I should have stopped there, though. Stall #13 was Nikko, this cute but pain-in-the-butt Haflinger. He was really interested in the hay, as well as chewing on the wheelbarrow and my rake. Nikko has an extra closure on his stall, and I found out why. Any energy I had left, Nikko sucked it right out of me. I knew once I got his sawdust that I was done. Done, done, done.

When I drove home, at 1:30, the radio said it was 101 degrees outside. So, you ask, what possessed me to muck stalls in 100 degree temperatures? I'm 99% positive that it was stubbornness and pride. I wanted to prove to myself that I could finish the job. I wanted to prove I have what it takes to work a hard job. I'm a smart girl--my common sense told me several times that I should probably stop, but I was too stubborn. In the back of my mind is my father's voice, telling me I don't have what it takes to do something like this, like being a farmer. I think part of myself has always believed that, and often succumbed to it. But there's a part of me that wants to prove him wrong.

My lesson here? To have a bit more compassion on myself. Sure, I can work hard. 13 stalls is nothing to laugh about; I know very few of my friends would put up with mucking one. I don't have to prove my capabilities overnight--I should allow myself time to get used to this and any other task I set for myself. I should listen to my inner voice--the one today offering up the obvious common sense that it was way too hot for this kind of work. Finally, I'm showing up at 6am on Thursday for attempt #2.