Long live Thomas Wilcox

In Havana, I've discovered a fabulous place to eat: Granny's Frying Pan.

Zippy and I went there last week and had fabulous country food. Fried chicken and catfish. Great tea, to. So we figure this is going to be a normal stop.

And today we went again. We met Marty and Anne for the lunch special. Today, that's a hamburger, fries and a bunch of tea for the bargain price of $5.

The four of us were sitting at our table in the little eating room. (At Granny's, you order at the kitchen window but go into a different room to eat. They have a TV as well as a book and magazine exchange. It's kind of like eating at your house, only someone comes around to refill your tea glass and the magazines are more recent.) There are two others tables and a bar table thing. (Not a booze bar.)

The bar de-peoplefied shortly after we got there, but the two other tables were occupied. One was a guy, maybe my age, and his little blonde boy and the other table had a couple of good ole boys there.

While we were talking at our table, Zippy said aloud she wondered if they were the guys who fixed the well yesterday. The pump gave out and this guy, based in Havana, came to temporarily fix it Saturday then brought his partner back Sunday to replace it.

I didn't know if the guys at the table were the same ones, s Zippy just asked them. They were not. In fact, I realized that the one guy hadn't been able to work the remote control, so it's not likely he'd have been replacing a well pump, you know?

But he thought Zippy looked familar, too, and upon revealing the name "Thomas Wilcox," they discovered indeed, he had been in Zippy's class back when she taught at Gadsden.

So that led to much discussion on how she used to "whup his butt" and what he was doing now, since it wasn't repairing wells. He, coincidentally, had gone to school with the daughter of one of the other people at the table and, as a Calvary resident, knew a friend of the other person.

And the guy at the other table, who had the little boy, was also in there somewhere, since he also lived in Calvary, knew the non-well guys and somehow knew someone related someone else at the table.

Zippy, of course, is hooting and hollering this whole time. She told this 46-year-old man, whom she taught as a kid, that she was losing her mind but still playing softball.

He was clearly taken aback at her wild woman-ness, especially when she got up and Zumba'd for him, bumping hips.

I swear I do not know what to do with this woman. She is insane, technically if not clinically. And I'm sure it's in the DNA. If it's not my problem now it will be later.

And looking after this woman is a full-time job.

She bumped hips with her student, just laughing all the time.

I was mortified. So was Thomas Wilcox.