Oh Black Water, Keep On Rolling…

The water was surprisingly murky as it flowed across the tops of my feet. When the water lapped at the bottom of my ankle bones, my toes disappeared from sight. And where I stood on the pavement, I watched the water churn against the lightpost not ten feet in front of me, knowing that I would get knocked down and sucked under if I were to attempt to wade that far. But not being able to see my toes in water less five inches deep was enough to keep me from going any further.

That, and I kept waiting for a severed foot to float by.

Last night, I hung out with Tom. He wanted to poke around the riverfront to see the flood water and I was curious myself, so I met him at his place before heading back towards downtown.

It should be noted that we did see the irony in the fact that we both work downtown and yet left the area, only to return. Since his work shift ends an hour before mine does, we need to figure out logistics.

We parked in a garage where the lower level was nearly submerged in water. I’m bad at judging distances, but I would say that on a normal day the river bank would have at least 20 yards further out. It was mind-boggling how much water there was. Which sounds rather naive, I know, but to see the magnitude of the water was rather humbling. It certainly put things into perspective.

Tom may have organized the field trip, but it was joked that I would have to follow through with the details. Bottled water was soon wished for. And lots of it. It was muggy and hot in the sun, but the moments in the shade were comfortable.

We hiked from the Landing over to the Arch grounds and made our way from the north stairs over to the south stairs. Both the side staircases were closed, but the main steps were closed about half-way down. People congregated throughout the park, the same as us – all looking at the floodwater.

We ate at Morgan Street Brewery, an experience that would have benefitted from us eating out on the sidewalk rather than indoors amongst the “meet market” crowd. The food was good, but the environment was discouraging. Drunk people are not ambiance. Especially for an evening of natural surroundings.

Hours were spent watching the water and I think that Tom and I haven’t had such a meaningful – and low-cost – Friday night. And the night went late, too. Tom and I eat early most times – 5 o’clock or so – then putter about before going in search of ice cream, then calling it a night by 9 or so. Last night, I got home around 11 pm. We just couldn’t leave the water.

I’ve grown up on the banks of the Mississippi River, but generally take the river for granted. The Mighty Mississippi River has been a mainstay in my life since I’ve lived in St. Louis all of my life. I never much think about it, generally taking it for granted or silently bemoaning the fact that it’s not an ocean with beach and clear water.

But last night I was in awe of the power and terrible beauty of nature. And by the looks of the people we passed, Tom and I were in good company.
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Hot Off the Press!

The St. Louis Post-Dispatch has been losing my respect by leaps and bounds over the past several years, but more so since Lee Enterprises bought the paper from Pulitzer. What the Post-Disgrace considers to be news, I find appalling. I don't want to get up on my soapbox because what I'm writing about now isn't how they irritated me yet again, but how they surprised me. While not cutting edge news, I find it a nice change of pace. And no, I'm not biased. Why do you ask?

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Not So Momentary Lapse of Reason...

Do you ever have moments were you aren’t exactly sure why you open your mouth and then once you do, you can’t shut up?

I bet right now, you’re wondering what the hell I’m talking about.

Friday night, I was hanging out with Tom and we were heading back to his car when I saw an old acquaintance from Mizzou. We didn’t part on the best of terms and yet, for some reason that I can’t fathom, I said ‘hi.’

Now, the last time I saw him was about ten or so years ago. It was Christmastime and there was a blizzard that made driving almost impossible. I was tooling around in a ’68 Impala… which wasn’t made to have the best traction. So I slid. A lot. And my passenger would scream each time I went a little sideways. Scream a lot. Which was very distracting. During a time I didn’t need to be distracted.

Now, mind you, just because I slid doesn’t mean that I ever lost control of the vehicle. I never went across lanes, despite having repeated urges to take my passenger out – even if it meant I was going with them. But in the Impala, I think the concrete barriers would have given before the Detroit steel did.

So in the middle of this blizzard, I had to find something for us to do because there was no rescheduling – they had driven up from Festus and I had to entertain them. Dammit.

In a bind, I called Tom, who was putting up his family’s Christmas tree. His friend Tim was helping, so I had two people to torment. Well, it wasn’t me who was doing the tormenting. I know one comment was made that when one stood close to the bookcase and bookstand, it was like being in a library. A silly grin was also cast in Tim’s direction, to which I took some heat afterwards.

We didn't stay long, but it was longer than was welcome by however long we were there, plus ten minutes.

I blocked out most of the evening, but bits and pieces came back to me Friday night.

And yet, I couldn’t shut up. I couldn’t walk past and not acknowledge him.

What is wrong with me?

Really, there is no need to answer that.

It would take way too long.
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This Amused Me to No End...

	Jeanne -- [noun]: A master of sexual gratification
'How will you be defined in the Sexual Dictionary?' at QuizUniverse.com

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I Said 3 ½ Tons and Whaddya Get?

Another day older and deeper in debt.

Another summer in St. Louis and a new milestone in my life is occurring this week.

Hopefully by this weekend I will have a new air conditioning unit, plus furnace.

I am quite excited about the prospect of more energy efficient appliances, but there’s also a sort of melancholy that’s mixed in. Why would anyone feel any sort of sadness about an old A/C unit and furnace?

Well, part of it has to do with the fact that with the replacing of those appliances, there’s one less thing in the house that’s attached to my parents.

Living in my parents house results in many mixed emotions – sometimes within the same day. With each passing year since my parents passing, Mom in 2001 and Dad in 2004, things get easier. But as much as I have a hard time with reminders that they’re gone, so I have the same problem when those reminders are removed.

The furnace is original to the house. Dad moved into the house in 1968 and the furnace is dated 1958. A 50-year-old furnace that apparently sat around for ten years before the contractor installed the unit. That in itself is amusing, but who has a 50-year-old furnace in their homes now-a-days?

The air conditioner is only about 25 years old. I say ‘only’ like it’s a young whipper-snapper. But I remember the girl who lived across the street coming over after it was installed and how we spent hours (okay, 15 minutes) talking into the unit while it was running, fascinated with the echo the blades caused when it was running. I also remember my poor mother dragging the old ‘landing pad’ that the original A/C unit sat on – which was actually in two equal pieces – from the middle of the back part of the house to the corner of the yard and painstakingly digging out the ground to set the concrete squares into.

Damn if she didn’t get them level, too! This past summer when we were putting a patio for our wedding, several of us dug out and found them. The level was out for the retaining wall bricks we were using and someone checked the concrete squares Mom set so many years ago.

Not bad for a woman who had had two massive strokes. Team Betty all the way!

So I suppose feeling bad that I’m replacing two antiquated appliances is silly, but since I live in a house where I’m surrounded by memories I think that embracing a little nostalgia isn’t TOO bad. After all, I’ll be lucky to get 10, maybe 15, years out of these new units. To channel both of my parents, they don’t make ‘em the way they used to.

But don’t think that I’m not a little giddy about getting new heating and cooling system. It almost makes me feel like a grown up.

Almost.

Maybe I'll feel a bit more mature when the check clears.
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In Rememberance of Things Past...

The eyes of the world are upon you. The hopes and prayers of liberty-loving people everywhere march with you. In company with our brave Allies and brothers in arms on other fronts, you will bring about the destruction of the German war machine, the elimination of Nazi tyranny over the oppressed peoples of Europe, and security for ourselves in a free world.

--Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower, addressing U.S. troops before the Normandy invasion

My father often reminisced about events that meant little to me at the time, but the emotion behind his stories often moved me... even if I had heard the stories many times over.

As was usually the case because I think he believed that if someone enjoyed a story once, they would enjoy it even more with multiple tellings.

But the war… talking about it always made him cry.

And today, he would have cried.

D-Day, the 6th of June. The largest single invasion in human history.

He often talked about the invasion of Normandy and how it changed the course of the war. About how more than 175,000 troops – boys – who, in the largest sea-borne invasion fleet in history landed on the beaches and hit the water, trying to battle past the armies of Hitler and the Third Reich. And even though many fell that day, many more pressed on, turning the proverbial tide and on D-Day, the 6th of June, when the beachhead was captured and wrestled away, it signaled the beginning of the end of World War Two.
Dad’s father was the block captain when the whole country was practicing blackouts in an attempt to prevent any sort of attack. Dad spoke almost reverently of how his father would walk the streets to make sure everyone on the block complied with the 60 second warning.

Dad grew up on the near north side of Chicago. While many of the coastal cities had more to worry about in terms of invasion, Chicago was a large enough city to merit concern.

Mom grew up in Webster Groves, a rather tight-knit community where everyone knew everyone. She lived on Elm Street, in the heart of Old Webster, in a gorgeous two-story home that I covet to this day.

It was a far cry from the apartment building my Dad grew up in, but there's no comparing city living to suburban living. It's apples and oranges.

I pass by my mother's house on a semi-regular basis and it still boggles my mind that although the yard is large, they raised chickens and turkeys right next to their Victory garden.

Dad would never eat chicken because, he said, whenever his mother made chicken and dumplings, seeing the chicken fat float to the top turned his stomach so badly that he could never fathom eating the poultry.

Mom always replied that she used to wring chickens neck when she was but a girl and she LOVED the taste of it.

But I digress, as I am wont to do...

While I had no direct impact of War World II personally, it moved me that my father would cry, sob sometimes, over the broken bodies that made sure that not only the United States remained safe

64 years ago today, boys – BABIES – went through the gates of Hell.

My father always remembered. And not just when June 6th would roll around. But often. And with great reverence.

And with lots of tears.

Today I cry for those who never came back because my father is no longer around to do so.

I might not remember, but I'll never forget.

And to those that I know – and to those that I don't – who are stationed overseas, please come home safe. My tears today are not only for those 64 years ago, but also those today.
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Lost Weekend...

So tired. So weary.

So short.

My posting, that is.

This past weekend I worked a special event at a new hotel downtown that raised an astronomical amount of money for the non-profit agency that employs me. Saturday, I worked from 8:30am to 1 in the morning, thus obliterating any chance of a normal weekend. I got home ‘round 1:30, too tired to be chatty, but too wired to fall asleep… so I jawed Barry’s ear off for about an hour. I was finally able to drift off at 3am, after I was finally able to shut my mind down. But after being ‘on’ for so long, it was tough switching gears. Barry couldn't have been as tolerant as he appeared.

The event was go glamorous and luxe that even I was impressed... and I was working the event! A lot of it had to do with the surroundings. The outside of the hotel is rather hideous, but the inside was amazing. The guest rooms looked like a bedroom and the public areas were just as soothing and clean. Very modern and sleek and Asian-inspired. Loved it. And so did the event-goers. I think it helped them open up the purse strings.

Sunday morning came very early yesterday when my dogs woke me up before 7am. I nearly became a ‘cat only’ household when Lance, my ‘good’ dog, kept pestering me. Mid-morning brought an attempt at a nap, during which I must have fallen asleep – though I can’t remember any dreams. Since I don't remember them, I deny any sleep happened.

I rose from bed a little over an hour later, much more tired than I started out. That made me really mad, but Barry said that naps weren’t always refreshing. But they did help ensure that you slept better at night. Which I did. In fact, I was asleep by 9:15 last night and slept like a babe.

While that won’t happen tonight, I do plan on going to bed once this is posted.

Now, the weekend wouldn’t be so bad if it didn’t fall on the heels of a long Wednesday. It was the day that never ended. I got to work at 5:30 to set up for the Board of Directors meeting, worked a full day, then headed over to Tom’s house to change for the baseball game. We won. 6-1. Houston. I think. Again, tired.

But the seats were awesome. Barry got tickets through his employer and gave up his seat. Tom and I enjoyed the company box, complete with a buffet of all-you-can-eat hot dogs and nachos. Hot dogs make me happy and ballpark hot dogs… Doesn’t get much better than that.

So… good company. Good food. Good weather. Great game. A damn long day being downtown – 5:30am to 10pm for all intents and purposes – but I had a blast at work and after. Not something I’d recommend on a regular basis, that’s for sure. But I wasn’t about to give the tickets to someone else just because I had to wake up at 4:30am.

I just don’t think that I’ll ever be inclined to do two uber-long days in less than a week. But for free hot dogs and a good cause, I’ll do what I have to do.

And then recover. Lot's of recovering. 10 years ago, this wouldn't even be an issue. Maybe not even five.

The next few nights I plan on being boring. I’m so excited about that.

But not too excited to sleep.

I hope.
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