The Silver Lining
I went home this weekend (one month to the day of moving) for my Mom and Dad's 25th wedding anniversary.
The trip was fast and furious (about 48 hours from door to door) but well worth it.
I could write about how much they mean to me, and how good it was to see everyone, but instead I'm just going to list some "snap shot" memories of the party, which I hope will illustrate what I'm trying to get at anyway.
Slow dancing with my G-pa Levell, under the stars, to Willie Nelson's version of "Stardust." We were both singing...
Funny thing about that, G-pa kinda looks like ol' Willie right now, minus the braids, of course. He's got a vagabond hippy thing going on right now, with a necklace of colored wooden beads and a handkerchief bandanna wrapped around his fore heard. I started my relationship with Willie thanks to G-pa.... I was 13, we were road tripping from CO to TX, and every time the wheels started rolling (even after bathroom breaks) he would play on the road again.
I effing hated it.
So that moment, at peace with G-pa and Willie, was perfect.
Watching Mom and Dad re-enact their wedding "get-away" picture in a golf cart with "bride" and "groom" baseball caps. I believe in the original they were in a Model-T, wearing their finest. This time around, mom was wrapped in a white plastic tablecloth, and dad was wearing a sweaty lake shirt. Beautiful! Thank God the light was glistening just right through the trees...
Watching my little cousin Alice, who is as fresh and sweet as a new bag of marshmallows, bopping about in the way 8-year-olds do. She was so witty and smart and sarcastic. We came up with an idea called "cake in lake" in which you eat cake for breakfast, with your hands, and then just jump in the lake to wash up.
Her and I tubed together, which I haven't done in a long time, and I totally screamed way more than she did.
"If you want them to stop, make a motion like you're cutting your head off with your hand," she said.
Oh man!
Later, she and I shared a futon, even though for all intensive purposes we were just getting to know each other again. We made good bed-fellows b/c I like to kick the covers off, and she likes to steal them.Come morning, she was curled into the nook of my torso like a kitten I'd raised from birth.
And to think I was afraid she wouldn't remember me!
I saw my Granny. She told me some pretty gripping stories about her life growing up. She got on a train when she was 17 (from a little town in WY) set for NYC, where she was going to meet her long, lost father... and other such sagas. Not sure how much of it is real, and how much of it is just an exaggerated memory, but none the less... it was great to have "story time" with her again.
I smoked a cigar with my uncles, which was pretty great. I warned them I would probably end up wasting most of it, after the green wave of nausea set in... they were ok with it. We kicked back with those tiny brown Cubans, which reminded me of caterpillars, and exhaled into the night. I was gleefully barfy after 10 minutes of it!
That's a lot to pack into one weekend, and I am certainly feeling the effects of it as I sit here almost nodding off at the computer.
I probably won't be going home again for a while, but those few hours we worth more than their weight in gold.... or should I say silver.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Special Brew and Salty Bits
There are two foods I'm not totally crazy about: sweetened tea and pretzels.
Here, both are a religion.
A religion where entire shrine-like-aisles are set up at the grocery store and people have the same kind of brand loylety that they have for their team.
So I figure, an entire state can't be all wrong, right? Scratch that, Arkansas is indeed, all wrong, right JP?
Anyways, Berks County, the one in which I reside, is the pretzel capital of the world, or something...
There are entire dough-bending factories, where they even bag up their salty bits and sell them for cheap-o. There are other industries in this area where people sell their salty bits for cheap-o, but that's a whole different blog entry.
The hunt for my perfect pretzel has led me to some pretty skankey, sour, lip-sticking snacks (you know how when you bite a pretzel, the part touching your lips, sticks... yeah, I don't dig that.) But, there are some alterna-ingredients, like oat bran and honey wheat, that I really like.
So I got that going for me...
Now for the sweet tea. For those who don't know the the kind of sweet I'm referring to, this shit is sweet like rock candy is sweet.
I've bought a couple of single servings, which by the way can also be bought by the gallon, and have thrown away all of them.
That is until I found the sweetened Oolong tea from Topher's crazy handy-man at work.
Yes, Topher has this cookey janitor-like guy, who is apparently not only compulsively into this tea, but is also into "Radioing" - which I think entails trying to pick up obscure radio stations.(Does anyone know anything about this?)
I've never met the guy, but I have this picture in my head of a man, emptying waste baskets with a tin-foil antenna-hat and a Oolong drip.
So the story goes, this guy makes a special trip to Philly's China Town once a year to buy 25,000 tea bags of this stuff (ok, that may be an exaggeration, but it is in the thousands.)
So Topher, being the friendly, inquisitive guy he is, notes this guy's interest in the tea, and asks him about it.
Next day, there's a frakin' gallon of it on Topher's desk. It's pre-sweetened, from home, in a obviously re-re-re-recycled lemonade Jug.
You can understand my initial suspicion. I'm thinking, maybe this guy likes his tea so much because it's a good way to keep ingesting his crack all day long. Needless to say, the jug went untouched for quite a few days.
But for some reason, I tried it.
DAMN! Now, I can't stop thinking about when I can get some more!
The thing is, the gallon is almost gone, and I can't keep putting in orders to the cookey janitor for tea, right?
I know what you're thinking, just make your own, but I doubt it would be the same.
Besides, where am I going to get the crack
There are two foods I'm not totally crazy about: sweetened tea and pretzels.
Here, both are a religion.
A religion where entire shrine-like-aisles are set up at the grocery store and people have the same kind of brand loylety that they have for their team.
So I figure, an entire state can't be all wrong, right? Scratch that, Arkansas is indeed, all wrong, right JP?
Anyways, Berks County, the one in which I reside, is the pretzel capital of the world, or something...
There are entire dough-bending factories, where they even bag up their salty bits and sell them for cheap-o. There are other industries in this area where people sell their salty bits for cheap-o, but that's a whole different blog entry.
The hunt for my perfect pretzel has led me to some pretty skankey, sour, lip-sticking snacks (you know how when you bite a pretzel, the part touching your lips, sticks... yeah, I don't dig that.) But, there are some alterna-ingredients, like oat bran and honey wheat, that I really like.
So I got that going for me...
Now for the sweet tea. For those who don't know the the kind of sweet I'm referring to, this shit is sweet like rock candy is sweet.
I've bought a couple of single servings, which by the way can also be bought by the gallon, and have thrown away all of them.
That is until I found the sweetened Oolong tea from Topher's crazy handy-man at work.
Yes, Topher has this cookey janitor-like guy, who is apparently not only compulsively into this tea, but is also into "Radioing" - which I think entails trying to pick up obscure radio stations.(Does anyone know anything about this?)
I've never met the guy, but I have this picture in my head of a man, emptying waste baskets with a tin-foil antenna-hat and a Oolong drip.
So the story goes, this guy makes a special trip to Philly's China Town once a year to buy 25,000 tea bags of this stuff (ok, that may be an exaggeration, but it is in the thousands.)
So Topher, being the friendly, inquisitive guy he is, notes this guy's interest in the tea, and asks him about it.
Next day, there's a frakin' gallon of it on Topher's desk. It's pre-sweetened, from home, in a obviously re-re-re-recycled lemonade Jug.
You can understand my initial suspicion. I'm thinking, maybe this guy likes his tea so much because it's a good way to keep ingesting his crack all day long. Needless to say, the jug went untouched for quite a few days.
But for some reason, I tried it.
DAMN! Now, I can't stop thinking about when I can get some more!
The thing is, the gallon is almost gone, and I can't keep putting in orders to the cookey janitor for tea, right?
I know what you're thinking, just make your own, but I doubt it would be the same.
Besides, where am I going to get the crack
Checking it out
Ok, this is it. I am getting back into this thing even if it means coming down to the Reading Public Library and hanging out with the residentially challenged.
I suppose the library is as good a place as any in describing the subtle differences between MN and PA.
So I come downtown, a bit of a drive, and navigate my way to the Main Reading Public Library.
This library is in a giant stone building, with big front steps, pillars and a stone awning etched with "LIBRARY"
"Ok, good, I'm in the right place.... I've got the stone sign to prove it."
Things are a little trim on the "social" side of life these days, and I am walking up the stairs to this place like I'm walking into Pizza Luce or something.
"Oh the fun to be had inside! Who knows what little gems I will find to take home and call my "friends" - the books not the homeless folks.
So bop up to the counter, all "Ms. Merry MN" (this is what they call me at work by the way) and ask about a library card.
Now it was (STRESS THE WORD WAS) my impression that a library card is a God given right. Or at least one of the constitutional amendments or something (Though Shalt Have A Library Card!) Well someone amended that amendment to read (EXCEPT in PA).
This lady did not care how cute and friendly I thought I was. I did not have proof of a current address (and no my fitness club card would not work) so I would just have to come back another time.
Now you have to understand that at this point, going to the library and coming home with whatever I found was, like, my entire day's plan.
I'm looking around, thinking, "that guy over there told you he lived in a cardboard box on Cherry St. and you gave him a card. That guy over there wrote down his residence as a 1975 Pontiac and you gave him one too."
What gives?
Well anyway, after routing around in my purse for a pay stub or something for about five minutes ( a trick I use to stall until the person gives me what I want), I came up empty handed. Into those empty hands, she put a postcard, which I addressed to myself to prove my place in PA.
She can tell I'm disappointed, angry even.
So I did what all good Minnesotans do, I smiled, said "thanks for your help," with sincerity and defeat and walked away. At this, the librarian gasped a little at my kindness (which most of the gruff east coaster's do) and probably felt like a total BE-OTCH for not giving me the damn card.
Kill 'em with kindness, that's what I always say...
I got that card in the mail today and immediately headed down to the libes to check out a life... even though it's not a social one quite yet. But, for now, I am content to curl up on my my honey's couch and settle in.
Ok, this is it. I am getting back into this thing even if it means coming down to the Reading Public Library and hanging out with the residentially challenged.
I suppose the library is as good a place as any in describing the subtle differences between MN and PA.
So I come downtown, a bit of a drive, and navigate my way to the Main Reading Public Library.
This library is in a giant stone building, with big front steps, pillars and a stone awning etched with "LIBRARY"
"Ok, good, I'm in the right place.... I've got the stone sign to prove it."
Things are a little trim on the "social" side of life these days, and I am walking up the stairs to this place like I'm walking into Pizza Luce or something.
"Oh the fun to be had inside! Who knows what little gems I will find to take home and call my "friends" - the books not the homeless folks.
So bop up to the counter, all "Ms. Merry MN" (this is what they call me at work by the way) and ask about a library card.
Now it was (STRESS THE WORD WAS) my impression that a library card is a God given right. Or at least one of the constitutional amendments or something (Though Shalt Have A Library Card!) Well someone amended that amendment to read (EXCEPT in PA).
This lady did not care how cute and friendly I thought I was. I did not have proof of a current address (and no my fitness club card would not work) so I would just have to come back another time.
Now you have to understand that at this point, going to the library and coming home with whatever I found was, like, my entire day's plan.
I'm looking around, thinking, "that guy over there told you he lived in a cardboard box on Cherry St. and you gave him a card. That guy over there wrote down his residence as a 1975 Pontiac and you gave him one too."
What gives?
Well anyway, after routing around in my purse for a pay stub or something for about five minutes ( a trick I use to stall until the person gives me what I want), I came up empty handed. Into those empty hands, she put a postcard, which I addressed to myself to prove my place in PA.
She can tell I'm disappointed, angry even.
So I did what all good Minnesotans do, I smiled, said "thanks for your help," with sincerity and defeat and walked away. At this, the librarian gasped a little at my kindness (which most of the gruff east coaster's do) and probably felt like a total BE-OTCH for not giving me the damn card.
Kill 'em with kindness, that's what I always say...
I got that card in the mail today and immediately headed down to the libes to check out a life... even though it's not a social one quite yet. But, for now, I am content to curl up on my my honey's couch and settle in.
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