Tuesday, July 28, 2015

Respite

It has suddenly become summer here on the Coast. My yard is dried up green. My flowers are faded. The squirrels have built a raft and refuse to get out of the birdbath. My hair is so frizzy I must turn sideways to get through the door.
And my brain has shriveled to prune size. Not 'dried plum'. I am talking withered and wrinkly prune.
I have no hope of seeing a beach. But my swimsuit hangs at the ready. 
It is so lonely and not salty here by the door...
See you again, soon!
Oh! PS- you can now check the Coast of Illinois out on Instagram!! @coastofillinois

Monday, July 20, 2015

And This is Why You Can't Take Me Anywhere

Or, maybe this is why you should take me EVERYWHERE...
So, you know how it is.
When it's Friday and your husband picks you up after work for dinner.
 And you go to your favorite local Tiki Bar – Taha'a Twisted Tiki – for some delicious chicken skewers and the best Hemingway Daiquiri on the entire Coast of Illinois.
It is no wonder Hemingway was such a good writer....
You have no intention of staying very late, its been a long week and you're pretty beat.
But the SEVENTY-SEVEN year old lady next to you strikes up a conversation and before you know it your husband has ordered a second round of the best Hemingway Daiquiris on the entire Coast of Illinois. And you have learned that the SEVENTY-SEVEN year old lady is a retired Air Force nurse who is there with her daughter (who is attending a scholarship foundation get-together, the attendees of which the lady feels she has nothing in common). She is getting ready to move into a retirement community and convert her 10 bedroom home into a boarding house of sorts for returning military women who need a place to stay until they find permanent housing. You meet her daughter, who is delightful, and as they say their goodbyes you consider doing the same.
But then a DJ begins to play music and next thing you know Charlotte Sumtimes – the MC and hostess of the Twisted Variety Show takes the stage, and well, now it would just be rude to walk out.
The hostess with the mostest.
So you sit back and prepare to be amazed by burlesque dancers Sofie de SadéParis Amor and Bryce Bordello. However, your husband is sitting sort of behind you and when the Hostess asks for volunteers, he points to YOU. A fact that you learn much later and for which he is still paying.
This is Sofie preparing for her balloon dance. The balloons don't stand a chance.
And suddenly you find yourself in front of the packed room at your favorite Tiki Bar – Taha'a Twisted Tiki – along side a lovely woman a good 30 years younger than you and an attractive man, also a good 30 years younger than you – as contestants in a dance off.
So, you implore the Hostess to please, please, please play a song you know as you beg the four other people in the place over 40 to be kind and support our team. And you know that you just have to jump in with both feet and never mind being embarrassed and if the worst happens you can always find a lesser Tiki Bar and make your own lesser daiquiris at home.
But the Hostess is kind and suddenly Like A Virgin by Madonna begins and you muster up your courage and your minor degree in 80's dance moves and work your way along the narrow, packed aisles, shimming here,  feigning a kiss there until you manage to make it back to the front where the attractive man, a good 30 years younger, has now re-appeared without his shirt yet still wearing a tie so you grab the tie and begin a tastefully dirty dance until you both break free, leaving you a few final moments to do a little swing with the guy in the Hawaiian shirt who is more age appropriate.
All the while your husband is trying not to fall off his seat while rolling with laughter at his little joke.
The music ends and the Hostess asks for applause to judge the dancers and while the audience is polite and well-behaved you are prepared to give the most gratefully modest bow and wander back to your chair in defeat. But...
When it is your turn for judgement the crowd erupts into cheers and applause and a chorus of 'MILF-MILF-MILF' and even your competitors, the darling woman and the attractive young man a good 30 years younger, is turned your way, grinning a big grin and applauding like crazy. And while you hope they are truly applauding your sweet dance moves, you know deep down they are probably just easing some of the Motherly Guilt, knowing that if it were THEIR moms were up there they would hope the same nice things would happen to her.
And since Hostesses have mothers too, she declares you the winner!
You do your most humble 'and scene!' bow, sweep your hands wide to embrace the throng as you throw your own applause back to them and scurry to your seat to google 'MILF' and collect your free drink.
Which now really needs to be water.
But turns out to be one more of those darn daiquiris. (The best Hemingway daiquiris in all the Coast of Illinois.)
And that is why you just can't take me anywhere. (Thankfully, I am blissfully unaware of any photographs of the actual dance-off.) 
Tahaá's Motto. Not a bad lifestyle when you think about it.

We ended up staying for the entire show, leaving Taha'a a little after midnight. Which is probably the latest I have stayed out in a year. And while the thought of attending a burlesque show might be off putting to some, I must emphasize what a wonderful group the people involved were. 
The dance troupe (The Kiss and Tells) was professional and talented. (There were several other equally talented dancers whose names I did not catch. I apologize and blame the daiquiris.) The crowd was respectful and engaged. The staff of the Tiki Bar, as always, were working their butts off. (You see, the Tiki Bar specializes in mixed drinks like Zombies, Mai Tai, Daiquiris and Volcano Bowls. All labor intensive drinks. It would be so much easier for these ladies to work in a place where they just had to pour a glass of wine or draw a beer. But the fact is, they take a great deal of pride in making these authentic Tiki Bar drinks. And believe me, it shows.)
To be able to spend an evening with such a diverse, unique crowd of people. To watch as everyone laughed and just enjoyed themselves. Well, that is exactly why I like to brag on what a wonderful place we have here on the Coast of Illinois.

Oh, and as we were walking to our car, the attractive young man who was a good 30 years younger them me, waved me down and again told me what an awesome job I did in the contest. I, of course, had to take his picture. 
Adorable and polite. What more could you ask for!
And if you need the recipe for making Hemingway Daiquiris at your own Tiki Bar:
1.5 ounces white rum
1 ounce fresh lime juice
1/2 ounce simple syrup
1/4 ounce marachino liquer
1/4 ounce grapefruit juice
Pour all over crushed ice, shake and strain into a chilled cocktail glass.
Sit back, write a great American novel and enjoy.
But it still won't be nearly as good as the ones at Taha'a.



Saturday, July 4, 2015

~Ker-Pow!! Sprler-Whoosh!!~

Happy Fourth of July!!!

~Ker-Pow!! Sprler-Whoosh!!~

**Exploding-One-Person-FistBump**

This is how I have taken to responding to anyone who wishes me a Great 4th! I am not sure why. It just seems the thing to do this year. Honestly, I don't remember ever being wished a 'Great 4th' as many times as I have over the past few days. 


~Ker-Pow!! Sprler-Whoosh!!~

**Exploding-One-Person-FistBump**

I sort of like it.



I'm not sure if it has to do with everyone here on the Coast of Illinois being so happy and grateful that it finally stopped raining. Or that, constitutionally, there is actually a little reason be proud of our government. Or the fact that we are all getting a little bit older and long for the carefree days of youth when people were free to play Jarts with real pointed metal ends, not the wimpy plastic ones out there now. 
 
Old School Ice-Cream making at Grandma and Grandpa's farm. When else would you get the chance to eat rock salted ice chunks? Please note the bare feet - mine. And the milk carton under my Dad's hand. It is a frozen junk of ice which he is preparing to smash with the ball-peen hammer, next to my little brother's feet. GOOD times. (DO NOT take note of my overalls, or my hair. Please.)
 The Fourth of July has been something of a secondary holiday around our house. We always tried to do holiday themed activities with our kids when they were home. You know, BBQing dogs and brauts. Watching the neighbors as they shot off fireworks. Taking bets on who was going to wind up in the hospital with second degree burns from sparklers.



We had many happy evenings watching fireworks from the Arch grounds, then Jefferson Ave, when the trees got too tall and the crowds too large. 
This was taken just a few years ago, from the top floor of a fancy riverfront hotel The ONLY way to watch fireworks!

There was a super fab year when we braved the Midwestern Migration to Destin, Florida with some friends and were treated to 2 hour drives to get exactly 4 miles down the road to dinner but the fireworks over the bay more than made up for it. (That and the trouble THEY all got into for having a water gun fight from our fifth floor balcony with people in the parking lot. And the trouble SOME PEOPLE got into while allowing their children to play hide and seek, unattended in the hallway of the condo. Seriously, we were on vacation. Our kids NEVER got into trouble and they were thrilled to be the 'bad kids' for once!)



I was saddened at our semi-successful attempt at croquet, not easy in our sloping, bumbey backyard. I grew up on a flat, cornfield-infested farm. My sister and I spent HOURS playing croquet as kids. I could slam that striped red ball through a wicket, bumping her striped green ball from it's perfect set-up shot, from 100yards. Of course, she was a wiz at blackballing me into the garden. (That's where, as a penalty, you get to set your ball next to your opponent's, steady them with your foot and WHALLOP your ball, thus, through physics, sending your adversary's game winning shot down the proverbial toilet.)

Our kids never quite got the feel. We played barefoot – it was important to learn precision. Our kids were pampered. They never left the house without light-up sneakers on.

I ask you, where is the motivation to not slam a swinging mallet into your baby toe???



Anyway.



As everyone in the house aged the Fourth of July has become less of a big deal. I was the only one scrambling from window to window to catch a glimpse of neighborhood explosions. Brauts and dogs were replaced with more healthful tilapia.



It just felt right that this year I bring back a little of the fun that was the 4th. Thus my awesome Fourth of July greeting.

~Ker-Pow!! Sprler-Whoosh!!~

**Exploding-One-Person-FistBump**



Yet, while out shopping with my daughter on Friday, she gave me the fashion-appraisal once over, then did a self-eval and noted that we were both very 'patriotically dressed'. She in a faded red t-shirt and jeans, me in a faded red/white jersey and jeans. Her shoes were blue, mine white.

~Ker-Pow!! Sprler-Whoosh!!~

**Exploding-One-Person-FistBump**



This morning I dumped my yogurt and fruit into a bowl and noted:

I swear, this had to be subconscious. Also of note, the bowl is sitting on my kitchen table which sports a Fleur-de-Lis, the universal symbol of guillotine wielding Frenchwomen and St. Louis, MO.




~Ker-Pow!! Sprler-Whoosh!!~

**Exploding-One-Person-FistBump**



Perhaps the Fourth of July never really lost it's significance after all.


~Ker-Pow!! Sprler-Whoosh!!~

**Exploding-One-Person-FistBump**



Have a safe and happy Fourth of July!

From the Coast of Illinois




~Ker-Pow!! Sprler-Whoosh!!~

**Exploding-One-Person-FistBump**
Okay, one more family photo. Me-Dad-Grandpa holding my brother, my Sister leaning in. All of us in front of a car which could sleep 10 comfortably.  I am going to just embrace the overalls. I believe they actually had a little skirt attachment, for wearing to church or other formal functions. Also, they had not invented 'hair product' so I was stuck with Dippitey-Do and pink hair tape. My hair laughed at this. As did everyone else.