Surviving Your Class Reunion

First I should put in the disclaimer, if high school was a miserable experience and you would rather gouge out your eyes than see any of those assholes ever again?  Just skip on by this post.

For the rest of the population, let's talk.

Most people agree that the five and ten year gatherings are a waste.  Everyone stays in the same circles they did in high school, no significant mingling, no happy memories.  Wait until the twentieth.  Enough time will have passed  that people break out of their teenaged roles and have actually grown up.  Memories fade, names escape you, and you are available to make new friends.

Me?  I was a wallflower in a class of 500.  I knew only my very small group of friends.  Of course I knew the names of the popular kids, but I was never one of them.  At my twentieth I was surprised, no wait, ASTONISHED people knew who I was.  They remembered me.  Me?  What the hell?

Then came Facebook.  Oh buddy how this has changed the world.  People I NEVER knew in high school were becoming my online friends.  They were commenting on my woes, cheering my successes, and liking my pictures.  It was, and is, pretty cool.

This weekend was our thirtieth class reunion.  How am I even old enough for that?  Thirty years?   Since high school?  Me?

A year ago the date was set and eventually the plans came together, most of it done through the miracle of Facebook.  Word did get out to those not online.  Excitement was building, this was going to be awesome.

On Friday, twenty of us gathered at the high school for a tour.  There were no surprises for me walking through the building, I had worked there not too many years ago.  What did surprise me was this vivacious woman bounding up to our crowd, hugging EVERYONE, and introducing herself.  I found out later she had been a cheerleader.  At the mixer at a local restaurant we crowded into a party room and squealed as new faces arrived.  I was introduced to the cheerleader's circle of friends and suddenly I was having deep conversations about toilet paper.  I still felt a little stifled trying to mingle with the other clusters of people and kept returning to a safe zone.

Saturday was the official event held at a winery.  It was a gorgeous venue on a gorgeous day.  I charged up my iPhone and decided I should try to get a picture with each person.  I don't know where this inspiration came from but I rolled with it.  Once I started walking up to people saying I wanted to get a selfie with them they cheered my idea and started snapping a few of their own.  I actually did manage to walk up to every person there although my pictures didn't prove that.  I'm sure my drunk thumbs missed the button a few times.  It didn't matter.  It got me off my ass and away from my table, not that I had anything against hanging with my two best friends, but I see them all of the time.  It truly was fun and that stupid act of trying to get pictures with each person was a fabulous ice breaker.  My favorite line was from Jack who said "Hi I'm Jack, I think we graduated together."  Why, yes we did!

Afterwards we had a room reserved at a nearby bar.  The band was loud, the room was crowded... are we getting old?  Close to 100 people managed to squeeze into the tee-tiny patio, escaping the loud band inside.  More laughs, more mingling.

I have spent the last two days adding more friends to my Facebook list.  Okay, they're only acquaintances, but who cares?  We have a shared bond for having sat in the same football field on a Tuesday night early in June 1984.  There is a shared bond and maybe, just maybe a few new real friends have been discovered.

Reunions come in many shapes.  I don't have many memories to reminisce, I didn't attend grade school with any of these people, no childhood antics, so reunions have to be something else.  For me, on this round, I made new friends.

Organizing The Garage

When we moved in last year lots of things ended up in the garage, it was FULL.  A few months later when the inside of the house was more settled we attacked the garage so we could at least fit the car in it.  That was not a pretty day as we chose the hottest day on the calendar and managed to scream and yell at each other every step of the way.  We did manage to squeeze one car into the two car garage, but the results were dismal.  Piles upon piles of random crap remained.  Ever since then basically every tool or item I have needed was "back there" with a vague point to a distant corner.  More than once I have sent the teenager on a mountain climb to retrieve a thing or two hiding behind some precariously heaped pile.

The time had come to clean the garage. 

Teenager invited a friend over to help with the ordeal - what a trooper this kid was, to help clean someone else's mess! 

Step One:  Remove EVERYTHING.  My yard looked like I was prepping for a garage sale and the neighbors each drove by very very slowly inspecting the possible sale.

  

Step Two:  Discard, discard, discard.  The pieces of furniture I've been nagging my husband to post on Craigslist are now sitting in  my dining room.  A giant trashcan was pulled onto the driveway as I kept chucking unneeded crap.  Several other items were moved to the basement (how long before I tackle THAT mess???)

Step Three:  Get the structural bones in place.  The fridge and freezer were re-arranged to improve space and unintentionally give us a resting spot when unloading the car after shopping excursions.  Shelving was moved to a more logical position.  Figure out where things like riding mower and the tool box will sit.

 

Step Four:  Put everything away.  Once the heavy lifting was done I sent the boys away.  This is something I do in a very haphazard, ADD process and look like a moth flitting around on acid.  Friendly suggestions and distracting chatter only delay the outcome.  Least used items were put on bottom shelves and in back corners, garden tools lined up on the bare wall, frequently used items close to the door, broom hanging in an accessible spot.

 Step Five:  Admire your work then take a nap!

Step Six:  Move the car back in

 

Now we can open the passenger side of the car, I no longer have to send the teenager on a scavenger hunt to find things in dark corners, and everything I need is right there.  

My Second Child

Today my son Keith turns 25.  Of course my mind goes back to the day of his delivery, but I also consider how his arrival impacted our family.  Every parent wonders about how life will change with their first child, but number two?  How different can that be? 

With my first pregnancy I was able to focus on every little nuance and change in my body.  I sang to the baby and we had long talks.  Baby number two I had a toddler running around.  My conversations were now two-sided and highly focused on cookies.  I'm sure I sang but to the little tyke in front of me not the one rumbling around inside me.  And when the baby arrived again all of our focus was on the older child so she wouldn't feel slighted and making sure she wouldn't hurt him as she played... or walked past.

Fortunately our once only-child, readily accepted the screaming baby and the new routines necessary for two children.

The immediate change was of course in us as parents.  No more could we hyper-focus on one child, we had to be fair and figure out how to spend equal time with each.  "Equal" wasn't ever possible.  Their needs were different.  Out of necessity we couldn't let either child just do whatever at their whim.  Feeding, diapering, bedtimes had to be implemented on a schedule, not that either child could be forced but it eventually came to be.  Since we could no longer hyper-focus on the needs of one child we learned to mellow out.  Things dropped on the floor weren't rushed to the sink to be sanitized but quickly wiped off and handed back to a child ready to burst into full squawk.   Not that I ever kept a perfectly clean house, but my standards lowered even further.  Toys scattered every room and we blindly stepped over each one.  It was just easier.  In fact "it was just easier" became our approach to a lot of things.

For the first child, she had to change as well.  No longer was she the focus of the family.  She had to share her parents, her room, her toys, and sometimes her food.  Okay, she never shared her food but that didn't stop little fingers from trying to abscond a morsel or two.  Sharing is a necessary skill among siblings and she was getting a crash course.

For the new baby, he never was the center of anyone's universe.  In some ways that makes me sad.  Fortunately, his mellow temperament made this a non-issue.  He just goes with the flow.  If something is not available then he will drift to something that is available.  That's not to say he hasn't perfected the art of tormenting his sister into tantrums.  He is very good at provoking and finds immense humor in it.  There is an evil glint in his eyes despite looking oh-so innocent, "who me?"

Pride for many parents arrives with the mile-stone accomplishments of their children - graduations, promotions, acknowledgments, sports.  For me, my pride came early on just watching my children.  There was something special sitting on the porch as they romped and played in the yard.  They played WITH each other. 

If I ever tried to help things along it only destroyed the fragile magic they had woven.  I could hear the same thing from other rooms as I was cleaning.  They were keeping each other occupied and having fun.  I can still hear the squeals and giggles that would come to a complete halt as soon as they noticed me watching.  I learned to stand back and enjoy the show from a distance.  Even when they fought if I left them to their own devices they would soon be laughing again.

Many years later this dynamic duo easily accepted a third child into the fold.  They interact with him differently that they do each other.  When Ian was little, he had a second set of parents, an ever watchful set of guardians to help him in any way necessary.  That's not to say big brother didn't torment him too, but there was a line that was never crossed because he was "little".  Only recently has Ian grown to be the same size as his brother and bigger than his sister that they now treat him as an equal, but it's still not the same way Keith and Amanda treat each other.  Keith and his little brother are now friends and actually choose to hang out.  I'm blown away every time I hear Keith is coming to the house to play games or watch a movie with a punk teenaged kid still in high school. 

Today Keith has two beautiful children of his own and he is the most hands-on father I have ever seen.  His children light up when he enters the room.   He plays with them and rough-houses, but he also disciplines them.  I can't even explain my pride in seeing him as a father.  He dumbfounds me.  I watch him awestruck.

I find the same delight watching his children interact as I did with him and his sister.  It looks like they will fight and tussle, laugh and scheme just as their dad and aunt did as children.  That's not to say I don't still sit back and watch my adult children interact.  It's impossible to tell how long they have been apart because their conversations and tormenting pick up from their last encounter.

Keith, like his mellow personality, brought a mellowness to our family.  I never expected it, I didn't even know to look for it.

Why My Daughter Would Kill Me

Yesterday I went on a little jaunt around town that had my daughter been in the car, she would have reached from the backseat and put her hands around my neck and ended my mortal suffering.  She has been on similar journeys, ones where taking the scenic route interfered with the destination, leaving her fuming and me giggling with "oops" guess that was a wrong turn....

Hubby and I started our day off to join some friends as they said farewell to a musician that passed away last week from cancer.  I didn't know the man, but my friend Donna had worked with his wife for many years.  We drove to Soulard, a beautiful old French part of town filled with corner bars, a great century old farmers market and hosts our annual Mardi Gras celebrations.  The 1860's Saloon was crammed with people and no place decent for Mr. Bad Knees to sit down.  We greeted our friends, passed condolences to the widow, had a beer, listened to two songs, and had to leave.  It was too much standing in too little of a space.  Clearly Jimmy Lee Kennett was adored by many many people and I hope such a public outpouring of support warmed Heidi's heart.  By the way FUCK CANCER!

Thus begins the roadtrip of many miles.

I suggested that since we were just down the road, let's see if we can find the Lafayette cake (STL 250 celebration).  That was easy enough!  Hubby said with the afternoon wide open, let's go to Illinois and check out Lottawatta Lodge (they reportedly have his most favorite food in the world, chicken fried steak).  I google the location, it's only 12 miles away.  I cruise down Tucker, head south and at the light to turn onto the highway I spot another cake right in front of me.  It's the Soulard Restoration location.  Woot!  As we scoot across the intersection I make the discovery that Tucker turns into Gravois.  This is news to me for all of the years I worked downtown and lived in south county, I had no clue.  It will also be key to this story much later on.

Pictures taken, chat with a couple of girls also grabbing the same photo op, then hop on the highway!  This is uneventful despite the many highways all converging across the same bridge.  Three miles into Illinois I see a sign for the Jackie Joyner Kersey Center.  HEY!  They have a cake there too!  Mind you, this is THE WORST EVER PART OF ST. LOUIS.  This is EAST ST. LOUIS.  There is no reason for anyone to be there ever.  But it's daylight and my husband is with me, so we take the dive and get off the highway.

Again, this goes without a hitch.  I get my picture and return to the highway.  We pull into the lot at Lottawatta and there are a ton of cars and a line out the door.  I ask the lady at the end and she was told it was an hour to an hour and a half wait! 

Uh no

We decide to go home and grab some coupons for Olive Garden.  I suggest the "scenic" route up RT 159 which the sign says goes through Collinsville, home of the Giant Ketchup Bottle, host to another cake.  Hubby agrees.  We find Collinsville and the giant ketchup bottle with no problem.  As I start to pull out of the lot (yes there is a parking lot for all of the gawkers) Hubby suggests that instead we go to the chicken place I pointed out on one of our midnight tours of the city a couple weeks ago.  We frequently drive around places and now that I'm hunting cakes we do so with a little bit of a mission and a whole lot of meandering.

Hodak's.  I have never been to Hodak's but since working many many years ago at the Riverfront Times I have heard how fabulous the chicken is at Hodak's.  I knew it was in South St. Louis, but never exactly sure where.  When I saw it one night as we cruised down Gravois I pointed it out and suggested that we go there sometime since Hubby is a HUGE fan of fried chicken.

Gravois (by the way, in St. Louis it is NOT "grav- wa" as the French would say, nooooo this is "Grav-OYs") is a loooong north south road, which remember I just discovered begins where Tucker Avenue ends.  It is the old Route 66 until it meets with Chippewa, but the road continues well south beyond that... into Jefferson County where it turns into Hwy 30.

But anyway, I ponder the best way to reach Hodak's since I discovered its location in the dark.  I was certain it was past the Bevo Mill, even beyond Bates Avenue.  I could take Gravois but that would be a lot of stop lights.  Why don't I just cut all of that down and take 55 to Morganford?

As we drive down the highway we pass the exit for Bates but never see one for Morganford.  I jump off at the River Des Peres, the southern most point where this restaurant could possibly be located.  We start north on Gravois and drive.  We pass Bates Avenue.  We pass the Bevo Mill.  Still no Hodak's.  I pull over finally and look up the address, 2100 Gravois.  We were at 4300.  I had a sinking feeling that taking the highway was the wrong decision.

At last we find Hodak's.  After a 20 minute wait in line we are seated and proceed to enjoy the "best" fried chicken in St. Louis.  It was a good meal and definitely reasonably priced.

When we headed home I continued driving north on Gravois.  I literally drove two blocks and was smack dab at the Soulard Restoration where Tucker turns into Gravois!  Uh yeah, I took the long way to find the restaurant.  It also happens to be at the intersection of Geyer, which hours earlier we were sitting in the 1860's Saloon a few blocks away at 9th and Geyer.  I COULD HAVE WALKED FROM THE SALOON TO HODAK'S!  It was maybe five blocks apart.

Shit like this drives my daughter insane.

One Year Anniversary In Our House

Has it been a year?

I remember when the relator brought us to this house.  How many times have I driven into this neighborhood to visit my college roommate?  But this street?  I had no idea even existed, tucked away inside a golf course. 

We walked around the yard before entering the house.  Wow, the yard, it was huge.  It reminded me of a park, all lawn sprinkled with trees.

  

Next to the house are two mature lilac bushes.  They were in bloom and I pulled a fluffy branch to my nose and told the relator "this right here could sell me this house."  And it did.

We walked through the interior and it fit absolutely everything we needed.  It's a practical house, not a two story, century old lady that I have long dreamed of owning.  It's a sprawling ranch that my husband and his bad knees can maneuver with ample room for all of our furniture, including my ridiculously oversized recliner.

The basement was finished and came with a pool table!  More attractive to us coupon clippers was the huge pantry with built-in shelves.  And yes, I have managed to fill it quite nicely.  Friends have declared this to be the destination of choice when the zombie apocalypse hits.

Most importantly, the house was clean, ready-to-move-in, unlike so many of the foreclosure homes we had viewed.  Despite wanting to tear down walls and completely overhaul the kitchen, the house is solid as it stands.  Even if we don't start remodeling for years to come, we are perfectly content living with it as is.

One year ago we took possession.  Moving in was hellish and the many hands who helped make it happen have my eternal gratitude.

It only took days to discover the glory of our front porch.  This one caught us off-guard.  It's actually not big enough, but the covered shelter is perfect to sit and enjoy the scenery any time of the day.  

We are most frequently parked there well past sunset, listening to the frogs serenade each other.  Our quiet, tree-lined street from this vantage makes it feel like a vacation rental.  I'm still surprised there isn't a lake lurking beyond the rooflines.

Next to the front door is a perfect perch for Maxi, the cement goose, we inherited from my grandmother.  She has a suitcase of different costumes that keeps us amused.

 

My mother remains the matriarch but she has passed the torch for hosting family gatherings.    My brothers and I are left to figure it out.  Thanksgiving 2013 proved that I can easily seat 20 people for dinner.  I didn't even know this was on my wishlist, oh but how I love it!  Here are two long tables, side by side, allowing children and adults all in the same room, boisterous conversation from all directions, and most importantly, we were together!

Practically everyday I stop at my backdoor, a sliding glass window, looking out on a squat red porch with an ugly red fence and I just sigh, feeling lucky, blessed.

I am happy.

58 Cakes

Last week Hubby and I struck out to drive around St. Louis.  At night.  Out of boredom.

We squandered over a 1/4 tank of gas meandering through the streets of downtown and the surrounding area.  I think it would be impossible to retrace our course as we zig zagged hither and yonder and back again.  It was nearly 1am by the time we rolled into our driveway.  We had successfully visited 17 cakes in the area, none of the pictures I have downloaded yet.

The following evening we met with friends several miles outside of town.  It was my hope being mere blocks away from Six Flags that I could visit the cake.  Unfortunately the gates are closed by midnight... BUMMER!

It seems the common thread to my cake hunt is that most of it happens at night, typically very late at night.  In keeping with that tendency we struck out again last night, this time with my teenager in tow.  We had visited Lone Elk park earlier in the day with a stop at our favorite pizzaria.  It gave our young driver more highway time behind the wheel and he did very well.  We managed to snap pictures at Lone Elk as well as the Wild Bird Sanctuary across the street.  I also included Manchester City Hall in my count, although we failed to get a picture, it was too difficult to get to the parking lot from the wildly busy Manchester Road, but we saw it.

We left the house at 8pm and arrived home just before midnight.  We made yet another jaunt to downtown St. Louis.  We tried to take the teenager to the newly opened Ballpark Village, but the street was blocked off.  We drove him down Washington Avenue past the barely existent nightlife that was busting at the seams just last week.  There were stops at the fun and ever-changing City Museum, Soldier's Memorial and Christ Church Cathedral and a surprise at finding the Broadway Oyster Bar.  Meandering past Soulard in hopes of find the one in front of the Lemp Mansion we drove through narrow streets with tall buildings.  I'm very sure I drove right past it, hidden in the dark, next to other tall houses.

Somehow we came out on Gravois Avenue and knew he had to head south to the Bevo Mill, an old German restaurant with a windmill.  We drove through other familiar neighborhoods but didn't find any more cakes.  In all we found 8 cakes on that last journey.

There are a few trips that will require daytime excursions.  Cakes have been tucked away in rather iffy, if not downright dangerous, parts of town and I will be hard pressed to get my husband to venture through East St. Louis for the five cakes hidden there.