9 yards long

Same song different verse, “In Texas killin’ time ain’t no crime,” and for all its assets, the Web has never really yielded up resource notes for that one song. 1974 album, that’s about it. And killing time in Ft. Worth was fun. My accent gets a real workout, and by the end of the day, I’m twanging with the best of them. Saw some sights. Places to eat: Chuy’s. This is not affiliated, or so it would seem, with the chain in Austin, where the motto is, “Is that I.D. real?” Rather, it’s a local place, just a little bit south of the stockyards — two ambiance attributes going for it: no other anglos in there, and the menu had an ad for a bail bonds — a discount bail bond place. That’s good. Food’s great. Period. Then, there’s a place on the way to the highway, the old airfield, and the home of the Vintage Flying Museum. After touring the one in West Texas, this one was sort of a let down, at first. But one of the volunteers corralled us, and I got step inside a real B-17, take a tour, and listen to stories by a guy who’s actually flown it. The real “Flying Fortress,” only one of less than a dozen still flying these days. Pretty amazing plane, and even more astounding was the guided tour of it. According to the pilot, the term, “Give them the whole nine yards,” originates from the gunners on these birds, the machine gun ammunition was loaded into belts — 9 yards long. Cat was happy I was home, though, by the end of the day.