Gooey Louie

Gooey Louie’s: St. Louis gooey butter cake, sandwiched inside the Irish Catholic community off Chippewa. Three bullet holes in the glass (probably pre-teens with BBs), painted up purple and yellow inside, shelves of cardboard boxed cakes, all twelve dollars apiece. The owner walked out, pointed to Puck, toting his hand-sized yellow CAT (“Crackers’ initials!”) digger:

“Is this your brother?” he asked me.

(I flatter myself. Made up for being mistaken as Irish’s mom at the Winter Warm Up.) Then Mr. Gooey Louie introduced himself to us: former Physics major at Wash-U, and Storm Chaser. About the only two words Irish needed to hear. Around twenty minutes later she and Mom finally returned to the car after a conversation embedded with Tim Samaras, Reed Timmer, and Oklahoma. Get a St. Louisan talking about foul weather, and you might be held up for a time. People are fascinating. We drove out with a box each of Original and Reeses Peanut Butter Chocolate.

Mom and I spent around an hour later that afternoon researching metal detectors and Jupiter for the big road trip, various locations of interest, etc. while Carrie carved up onions, broccoli, and sweet potatoes for dinner soup. Mom, who had already scoped out the lighthouse and antique shops, wanted to get a better feel for everyone’s vacationing preferences:

“So, what are some of the things you all want to do when we get down there?”

“Find a husband.”

“Find a shark’s tooth.”

Okay, so …

Meanwhile, Puck marched back in out of the mucky yard, mud caked up both red wellies and straight down his track pants. He hunkered in for a Wright Brothers read with Mom while I mitigated the damage. Soup veg boiled on the stove. And a couple episodes of House Hunters in the living room – Mom and Carrie have been watching them in the evenings – while Puck slurped soup on the floor with a towel wrapped around his pant-less legs. Then he asked for an episode of “Ask This Old House.” I’m sure Theodore would be proud.