Out Past Old Saint Louis
Anyway, there was little chance of me turning into a snooty prig considering our “Discount Golf” course of nine 3-par holes in which I scored a 66 (that’s 39 over par for the math-impaired) and the fact that I have a marked habit of tipping off the top of the ball and skipping it bouncing across the ground as though I were skipping a stone over a lake’s surface. In spite of my ineptitude, I found the game (and the driving of the golf carts, especially the manic power slides my brother and I practiced at each and every hole) quite enjoyable—to the extent that I would certainly like to go back and try playing some more, perhaps with a few trips to a driving range prior with someone who knows a thing or two and might teach me not to be an embarrassment. While there was little shame in a small course in a state I don’t reside in on a Thursday afternoon where the only witnesses were my close relatives, I would not care to subject myself to the shame of playing that way around people who are, no matter how you look at it, probably protective of their chosen hobby and essentially armed with blunt implements.
Friday Scott and Sara dropped Joel off with his grandparents and the four of us set out for a day together. I’ve met Sara on several occasions during her fairly lengthy courtship with Scott but it struck me later that this last week was probably the first time Nik and I have really gotten a chance to know her as a person rather than a sort of abstract concept (“My brother’s wife,” for example). I’m pleased to report that she is an exceptionally kind, funny and warm person which is not something that particularly surprises me—my brother may be a bit spacey at times (although I noted with some alarm that fatherhood has drastically enhanced his maturity level) but no one can reasonably accuse him of being dim nor a poor judge of character.
We went to lunch at a Mexican restaurant where, much later I realized, they served me something that was not remotely close to what I had ordered. I’m pretty positive that I ordered a chalupa and enchilada combination plate but what they served me was a tostada and a chicken quesadilla. Obviously since I didn’t notice until we were out of the state entirely, it wasn’t a big deal and the food was good in spite of the miscue, but it was a little odd. After lunch we went bowling where I broke 100 (105) in the first game and barely cleared my golf score in the second game.
Bowling, golf, pool and darts are all examples of games that I’m terrible at. I’ve even managed to pinpoint the cause which is that they all rely on a certain ability to adjust some mechanical motion and maintain consistency through that motion over repeated attempts. Consistent motion is not my strong suit. I never hit the cue ball the same way twice, I don’t throw a bowling ball with anything that resembles proper form even though I’ve been taught how to bowl “the right way” by at least a dozen people since I was rather young. Games that feature speed and reflexes are much more suited to my particular set of physical (cough) skills which is why I am better at ping-pong, volleyball and raquetball and the like than I’ll probably ever be at the others. It’s not really a complaint, just an observation.
For dinner Scott, Sara, Nik and I went to a restaurant located near the University of Missouri (Mizzou if you please) which features the most unique but delectable appetizer I’ve encountered in a very long time. Envision thinly sliced green bell peppers, lightly battered and fried with generous amounts of black pepper and piled on a plate. Then sprinkle powdered sugar over the rings and serve. Odd? Absolutely. Delicious? You’d better believe it.
I had an Ahi Tuna and Pesto sandwich which was also very tasty and afterward we retreated to Applebee’s for dessert where Nik and I shared one of my favorites, Apple Cheesecake Chimichangas. If you haven’t tried these, I urge to stop reading right now and go find your local Applebee’s restaurant and order one. Now. The remarkable thing is that Applebee’s doesn’t make much else that I particularly like, dessert or otherwise. This one dish almost makes up for the incredibly average rest of the menu. Almost.
On Saturday Scott and his family had to go up north for his weekend job leading worship service at a church up there. We met them at a country-style restaurant for breakfast (real mid-Western biscuits and gravy are something everyone should try at least once before they die) and some more time and pictures with Joel. We sadly said good-bye to them and headed back to my parent’s place. My dad and I lounged in front of a parade of college football games, including the amusingly pathetic loss by Oklahoma to Texas Christian University. We spent the afternoon remarking in a rather smarmy manner about various things including how lame it is for teams to play these gimme games (USC versus Hawaii? Cal versus Sacramento State? Come on now…) and why Florida International (which I could have sworn was an airport) was playing. I postulated that it might be the airline worker’s pickup league or something. Shock of all shocks, it wasn’t televised so we never got a chance to find out.
Later in the evening my aunt and uncle stopped by with my cousin’s baby boy who is slightly older than Joel. He’s a cute little guy and being somewhat older he is close to talking and walking and his activity is a little more focused on task accomplishment (versus Joel’s sort of spastic motor skill experimentation). As the night wore on and they packed little Levi up to go home, the typical air of resigned melancholy settled over the house. We played Tripoley for a few hours (a fine game that blends poker and rummy, by the way) but with a long day including church in the morning and the day o’ traveling approaching, one by one people drifted off to bed.
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