we're there

Years ago I started taking this picture of Mr. D walking the kids to school. It's kind of a cool way to measure their growth since Mr. D stopped getting taller years ago...

Yesterday was the first day of school here in the Dairy State.  Last night after shuttling Mr. T home from cross-country and feeding the gang I had a meeting at church.  It was a rush of paperwork, excited conversations and carb-loading. Before I could issue job assignments, Mr. G and Mr. B bolted outside to play with their buddy who'd rolled in to his grandparents' driveway next door.  Mr. D called from across the state to check in and Mr. T chatted to him on my cell phone.  I left the house and children in a state of chaos, I also left my phone.

On the drive home it was already dark.  Lightning flashed to the north and the weather guy interrupted Matchbox Twenty on the radio with storm updates.  The Momvan's fuel gauge was on "E." I worried about whether Mr. T fed Jax and pulled the clothes in off the line. Was Mr. G fretting about the thunder (he really hates storms)?  Was Mr. B shutting the windows?  Or were they so tuned in to Cartoon Network that they were oblivious to the details?

I walked in to find the remnants of dinner still strewn across the table and a basket of dry clothes sitting on the floor.  Mr. T told me I'd "left the phone behind" and the neighbor guy had called.  His grandson, Mr. G and Mr. B were playing in a field he'd treated with weed killer that day.  Lightning flashed.  The wind gusted through window screens.  I turned off the TV, shut a few windows and listened to Mr. T explain that he made his brothers strip out of their clothes and jump in the pool to clean off any poisonous residue.  "Mr. B's eyes were itchy, so I gave him a wet washcloth.  Then we watched TV and waited for you." 

You done good, kid.  By any measure you've really grown up.

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the ebb and flow of memory

Poetic title today, isn't it?  And apt, too.  Yesterday I got an email updating me on Mr. G's tournament team practice schedule and I noted that he did NOT have practice for Tuesday, though I'd written on the calendar that he did.  Yippee!  We'd gone 4-4 ballplayers/coaches Monday night, so the prospect of a totally free evening without any practice/game/karate/church (excepting Mr. D coaching out of town) sounded delightful.  Team Testosterone arrived from school with light homework burdens and after they finished that, their chores and supper, we headed outside for the perfect trifecta of evening fun:  catch, around-the-world, kickball.
 I gained the lead in around-the-world, but then Mr. T and Mr. G were being mean to Mr. B so we quit playing without any declared winner.  The boys are finally old enough and skilled enough that we can all play catch, and we did for nearly an hour.  I threw pop-ups and rolled grounders.  I threw long and short tosses.  I missed more catches than they did, which was fine.   Mr. B and I went up against Mr. T and Mr. G in a game of driveway kickball where we racked up plenty of points but didn't keep score.  We raced and ran (with Jax getting in the way every time I was up to kick the ball), our sneakers brushing over dandelions in the grass.  We cheered and laughed and relished the balmy breeze on our arms and faces. I was truly wiped by the time we returned inside.  What a glorious evening!
In the hour remaining before bedtime we read and watched a bit of Frozen Planet.  The boys asked me what sports I played when I was their age and I explained that when I was a kid, we didn't really do sports like kids do now.  No one played soccer, for example, and all the other park & rec teams and tournament teams really weren't the norm back in my day.  "When I was a kid, we just played.  I took swim lessons and rode my bike a lot.  In middle school and high school I played a little basketball.  I took dance lessons and piano.  That was about it.  We mostly just hung out and played in our spare time."
"That sucks," they told me.  "Did you get a lot of homework?"
"Not like you do now," I told them.  
"Well, that would be cool," they opined.
"In the summer we'd play kick the can and stuff with all the neighbor kids.  We were never bored, but grown-ups didn't organize our fun like they do for you now."
Hm, they thought, "that might actually be okay."
This whole conversation got me to thinking about other stuff from my childhood.  Like the green Toughskin jeans I loved to wear, how toilet paper used to come in pastel colors to coordinate with bathroom decor and how my favorite smell was Tinkerbell perfume.  Remember Tinkerbell perfume?  It was the most delicate scent...

It's weird what you remember from your childhood.
And it's weird what you forget. 
This morning I opened my email to find one from Mr. G's league team coach--regarding last night's practice.  Oh crap, I thought it was a tournament team practice that had been cancelled...never even thought about it being his league team practice...
I feel bad that we missed his practice, but I'm glad we did because last night was perfect.
 

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the defense rests

Last night I reminded Mr. D that I had plans to join my neighbor gal, J, at 3 a.m. to watch the wedding.

Mr. D: You're kidding, right?

Green Girl: No--why?

Mr. D: You're not seriously going to watch get up that early to watch that, are you?

Green Girl: Of course I am! I already told you!

Mr. D: Yeah, but I thought you were kidding.

Green Girl: Honey, I was ten when Princess Diana got married. Ten years old and she was a real-life princess. I still have the letter from her lady-in-waiting from when I sent Princess Diana a drawing and a letter. I could get it out for you right now. It's on the most amazing embossed heavy paper--I got up to watch the wedding, it was amazing--she was my hero--

Mr. D: We need to get you some therapy.

Green Girl: And it's about history! You know how much I love England--I've been there twice, I've been to Westminster--all those places. Everything about it, the tea, the kings, the castles.

Mr. D: (who correctly suspects his wife of not bleeding red, white and blue patriotism and believes she'd emigrate to a European country in the blink of an eye) You didn't watch Chelsea Clinton's wedding.

Green Girl: It wasn't televised. Besides, I didn't watch her mother's wedding either.

Mr. D: (speechless)

Green Girl: How is this any different than getting up at 4:30 in the morning to sit in the woods and pray you don't see a deer because you don't want to have to kill it and deal with the carcass.

Mr. D: That's different. I do that with my son.

Green Girl: You want me to wake up the boys so they can watch it with us?

Mr. D: No, you go have fun. (under his breath) Whack-job.

Green Girl: I kind of feel bad for Kate, though. Prince William seems great, but I already married the real Prince Charming.


Reader, you know I woke up at 3, poured myself an English Breakfast tea, pulled on my Wellies and hiked across the field carrying a plate of blueberry buckle to share with J, who is a royalist and loves weddings and even placed a bet on the style of dress Kate would wear. (She won, BTW.) Thanks, J! There's no one I'd rather be crazy with than you!

And while Team Testosterone got ready for school, we watched the balcony kiss together--they were riveted with me. Maybe I should've invited them to watch the wedding with us...

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r.i.p. corner tavern

I've always been partial to the local joints--they have all the character and quirkiness the franchises like Applebee's and Bennigan's and O'Charley's strive for with their carefully orchestrated imitation "authenticity." The real good places have cheap tap beer, regular customers who are full of stories and irritating tendencies to talk too much and greasy menus that haven't been updated for decades (except to scratch out old prices with a ballpoint pen). The classic dives have their names on the backs of Little League t-shirts, dusty bottles of Johnny Walker (because the locals don't drink the expensive booze) and Johnny Cash on the jukebox.

In Mr. D's hometown there stands a really old building that housed the Corner Tavern. New Year's Eve was the Corner's last night in business, so we dropped in to say goodbye.

The first time I met Mr. D's family was in the front booth--we had beer and chicken and potato wedges. The broasted chicken was nothing short of amazing. That alone would've kept the Corner in business except the new management sold the trademark recipe to the competition down the street. No kidding!

behind the bar--pictures from times past

Actually, as I recall, it was Lent and everyone in Mr. D's family ate fish. I was the only person ordering chicken (and the only non-Catholic), and only realized my faux pas after the food arrived at our booth.

more than one person in our party remembered sleeping in these booths as children, oblivious to the noise and smoke while their parents visited and had drinks

We spent several nights in this tiny bar. The smoke-filled air would choke you to death until a couple years ago when the Iowa state legislature banned smoking in public places.

I've been in other old bars with the same set-up--a tiny bathroom, doorways so low that you have to duck your head, a single sink out in the main bar, just outside the bathroom door.

You probably don't know one of my (many) dirty little secrets: I'm a crackerjack craps player. My luck is just incredible. Back in my wilder days I had a really crazy winning streak playing craps on the pool table in the Corner's back room. Sure, it would've been easier to just take everybody's money straight out of their pockets, but half the fun is playing the game, right?

so many cool old signs

Another time one of my brothers-in-law took me down to the Corner for a beer--I believe it was on Thanksgiving. We sat right here and had 50-cent tappers. It's true, people really do bond over a few beers and we had a good time. Another brother-in-law recalls it differently, however. He told me New Year's Eve that he remembers me coming back to the Thanksgiving party a couple sheets to the wind.


It's a shame to see a wee little town bar close it's doors. It's full of a lot of memories, grease and building code violations (as you can see here by the Men's Room door--in the kitchen, next to boxes of food!). Inside that building are some darn cool beer signs, photos of old baseball teams and gorgeous cabinets from when craftsmen made things from scratch with care and love.


Maybe someone will buy the Corner Tavern and do something cool with the building. Hopefully Mike and Frank and an architectural salvage crew come through if someone decides to raze it. I wasn't even a modest part of the Corner's history, but I'm glad I got to have one last glass of beer and toast it's memory.

this picture shows how small the bar is--I'm standing nearly at the back wall to take this picture!

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