Ashes over the Pretzel Parlor

Sunday, June 12, 2005

The day had gone well. Aside from the fact that Blessing’s surgery was scheduled for the next morning, it was also: OLeif’s, Eve’s, and Wally’s birthdays: 21, 17, and 16, respectively.

Sunday, while Joe went on a caving expedition with Wilbur, Wally, and Curly, the rest of the family made plans to visit the Finn Inn for dinner with Grandma.

A lovely place in Alton where large fresh-water tanks held river fish and turtles, a tank stationed across from nearly every table, right in the walls. It was one of their favorite places to eat. It always reminded Collette of an fisherman’s inn up in the old whaling days.

Meanwhile, as they prepared to leave, Carrie-Bri played her original composition, created as an ode to her old “best beloved bosom friend” – Bing English – upon him becoming lost at the Botanical Gardens. He had resigned himself to being lost forever, and contemplated the Japanese fish pond. Carrie was thus inspired to write him a piece of music upon them finding him and returning him to the land of the living.

And while Carrie played, Rose crabbed about things, and Dad poked another hole in Carrie’s black sequined belt with the ice pick.

“I think I’ve lost weight,” Carrie grunted in satisfaction. “The belt used to fit…. You know – I’m in a real Ernest-mood. Let’s take a slight detour on the way out.”

Dad just shook his head again, as Carrie began to rant and rave about her esteemed Eagle Scout.

“Oooh, what do you think I should wear to Scout night?” She asked, thinking about the upcoming event in two weeks.

“He won’t be there,” Dad assured her. “And if he is, I’ll have him removed.”

Carrie laughed.

“Oh, he’s such a cute little daddy.”

Dad grew more smile lines.

And so they piled into the van, Carrie with her “Death of a Salesman”, Francis and Linnea with pillows to construct new and improved riding seats, and Rose climbed into the back to crab about things, but not for very long. She was soon cutting up with the rest of them.

Upon spinning around a clover-leaf to pick up Grandma, they were reminded of the infamous afternoon at the balloon race downtown. There had been no parking to watch the festivities, and so Dad had circled the nearest clover-leaf at least forty times as they watched the balloons rise into the air. OLeif thought it was one of the most funny moments he had ever witnessed. No doubt the tire tread had been worn down a good bit from that experience.

Meanwhile, Linnea proudly exhibited her prized skipping stone to everyone in the van.

“Cool! It’s shaped like a guitar pick,” OLeif examined it. And then he switched to the subject of his birthday. “Can I finish my tattoos?” He pleaded to Collette with puppy-dog eyes.

“No, we’re getting you hot dogs instead, remember?”

There was to be a hot dog roast Tuesday evening for both Eve’s and OLeif’s birthdays. Potato casseroles, vegetables and Eve’s famous dip, watermelon on ice, and deviled eggs.

Collette played with the charm dangling from her new bracelet. It was a gift from Rose – a pirate bracelet, silver with one charm of a gold skull and crossed bones, and another of silver with the skull and bones swinging from the charm. It was quite fantastic.

Soon, Grandma was picked up and they were on their way again. Grandma told them of the lovely concert conducted by Mr. Mather, that she and Aunt Petunia had been to Saturday night. Upon arrival to purchase their reserved tickets, the lady at the desk had said, as Grandma tried to pay:

“Oh, no. Compliments of the maestro. For all your support.”

“Well, my gosh,” Grandma had said.

It had been a lovely dinner and silent auction.

“And, Carrie, they played “Phantom” and “South Pacific”, “Sound of Music”…..”

Meanwhile, Rose called people “peanut-heads” and piled her books for the road into a white metal fruit basket, hanging from the ceiling air vent. Eventually, when Dad found out, he had her remove it.

“So we’re going on the river road again,” Grandma spoke from the front. “I love this drive. You know I’m going to have my ashes sprinkled there in the river.”

It was then about four of them asked her at once:

“I thought you were going to have them sprinkled over Gus’ Pretzel Parlor.”

Grandma still needed to officially decide on that one.

Meanwhile Grandma, Mom, and Dad discussed the old days. About how Uncle Balthasar was a sharp-shooter… They passed a field of sloping green lawns, groves, and pathways.

“That was where I pinched my best friend, Tammy’s, neck in the stocks.” Mom laughed, remembering.

They had both been actresses in a haunted house for the Haloweeners, and their skit involved Mom maniacally locking Tammy’s head in the stocks. Apparently, Mom had become quite carried away with the act at one point, and managed to catch Tammy’s neck. She screamed magnificently with the hearty approval of the audience, and Mom did not realize until the group passed on, why her scream had been so authentic.

Then they passed a little farm with a white house and barn.

“That’s where Mo and I would fall asleep on the lawn chairs while Grandma and Grandpa square-danced.”

“And bonked each other in the head,” Carrie added.

Mom and Uncle Mo were known to beat each other up with yo-yos, BBs, and other such things from time to time. Carrie had also inherited her knack of kicking people in the bum, from Mom. Mom herself had kicked several young boys in the shins for insulting her brother, unscrewing Christmas bulbs from the front evergreen tree, and for other no apparent reasons.

“Hey, kids, that’s where I used to go see movies,” Dad pointed out to a little complex no longer in operation. “And that was the hardware store I used to love walking to,” he pointed to another place tucked back from the road.

Meanwhile, Grandma had also noticed Linnea’s skipping stone.

“It looks like a guitar pick,” she said.

“Great minds think alike,” OLief called from the back.

“A caveman guitar pick,” Carrie noted. “Awwww!” She exclaimed, as she spied into another car parked at the light by them. “Talk about open advertising.”

They looked at the young woman’s rear-view mirror where hung two beaded marijuana leaves.

Meanwhile, Dad waited for the light at one of the worst intersections in Saint Louis.

“This intersection is just ridiculous,” Mom shook her head.

“It’s the French, Mom. The French,” Collette assured her.

Yes, the French had designed the road-systems of Florissant in a most annoying manner. This particular intersection included four parallel sets of two lane roads corresponding with three sets of lights, and each set divided by a grassy median. Disaster usually coincided with this intersection.

After they crossed the other side of the tracks, they hit Illinois, crossing the bridge where a man had almost committed suicide during its construction. Collette had seen the tape of him perched high at the top of the sail-like structure.

On the way, they saw a man help a paralyzed baby deer across the road. They passed the little chapel and cemetery where Collette had found a pair of rusty scissors several springs ago. There was the lodge at Perre Marquette as well.

They watched the river and the cliffs, talked about how the youngest Coca-Cola boy had nearly choked to death on candy during the morning service, and of how OLeif’s friend was learning Bengali from 1926 and 1930 textbooks at Washington University, and of how Carrie was thought to have had a mild case of West Nile virus several summers ago…

At the restaurant there was plenty of food, guffawing, and good bread sticks to boot. Dad chuckled quite heartily, his face turning red, much to Carrie’s embarrassment, when he started being ornery about something and Mom and Grandma squished him between the both of them at the table.

And the sun soon set over the river.