Paris, Texas

Winnie's got this stack of cards her mom sent her - they're sort of like fortune cookie fortunes with a little dose of philosophy and sometimes a famous quote to boot. We've decided to draw a card at random every morning of the journey and let that card define the theme for the day. Yesterday's card said "Take a Chance. You will need instincts and inspiration. Make your own set of rules to live by instead of conforming to someone else's." Following the guidance of that card slowed us down in a good way and we decided not to hurry.

We fell asleep in a campground nowhere near Paris, in a place called Rusk, to a symphony of tree frogs, cicadas and insects that sounded like quarrelsome ducks quacking just outside the tent. We woke up to birdsong urgent and cheerful, drank espresso and ate breakfast, put the top down and hit the road. Today's card said "A Turn for the Better. You will need unpredictability and experimentation. The next time you find yourself a little lost -- on the road or in life -- don't panic." The quote was Yogi Berra: When you come to a fork in the road, take it.

We pulled into Paris around 2:00 and I was limp with hunger and hot from the top-down drive. After a cruise round the old town square revealed some boarded up theaters and a Chamber of Commerce office closed for the weekend, we finally found the South Main Cafe. They had Sunday specials and unsweetened tea. Winnie ate an egg sandwich with sides of sweet potatoes and green beans; I got the healthy platter, which was a big salad with boiled eggs and fresh tomatoes topped with broiled chicken. The whole meal cost us 11 bucks. The ladies who ran the place asked us where we were from and where we were headed, and we explained we wanted to see every Paris in the USA.

"All the Parises, huh?" one of them said, like she'd heard it before. "Well, make sure you see the tower, and you won't wanna miss the Jesus in cowboy boots."

JESUS IN COWBOY BOOTS? We had our fork in the road, so we headed to Evergreen Cemetery directly. The first thing I noticed was it was old - not European old, but American old, with most of the births and a lot of the deaths in the 1800s. It was also the only cemetery either of us had been to that had street names. There was Iris and Daisy and Lily Lanes, and Oak and Pine and Alder Drives. We know all the names of all the roads in the Evergreen Cemetery because we drove up and down all of them looking for Jesus in cowboy boots.

"Jesus, where are you?" I started calling. "Is that Jesus?"

"Naw, that's some lesser angel ..."

"What about that? Is that one Jesus?"

"Jesus, Deb, that's a woman!"

"Well, Sweet Jesus, where is it already?"

Around the time we began to make noises about the philosophical implications of our inability to find Jesus at all, Winnie spied him at Main and Main, atop the massive tombstone of Willet Babcock. Sure enough, he was wearin' boots.

After that, the Eiffel Tower might have been a letdown, if not for the cowboy hat.