Nose-talgia...

Happy Father's day, y'all! For me, I'd like to send my love to RsVP and my own pa- The former for being someone who I emulated and held as the acme of coolness when I was a kid and the latter for being...well...my dad. I wouldn't be the frasser I am without him. Or be alive for that matter.


But...

Today we met the extended fam out at the OG in the Grove. I love our get togethers nowadays more than when I was a kid/teens/20's because I feel like there is a sense of candor now that I'm older that was never prevalent- Example? Today , the Lowry Bridge went down. And while I was elbowing my way through conversations about how I wanted to be there on my bike, my aunt quietly told me about how many trips she took in the late 50's early 60's to visit my uncle when they lived in North. Huh...I did not know this. And I love them for sharing.

Heading to the Grove, however, I chose to leave a lil' early so that I could make a personal side trip through my old nabe. Okay, so per normal I left late but was able to make it up Brooklyn Blvd which I titled "The Long Way" to the OG. And oh my, how things have changed. After dinner, I managed to have a maudlyn trip back home where I could really be a quizzacle investigator of my "old life". See, I realized that I've segmented so much of my wee existance into "BP years", "College/Uptown Years"/"NE years" etc that I kinda feel I don't respect the changes that happen.

So I toodle.

I toodle up Brooklyn Blvd. Taking a right on Jolly Lane after HWY 81. First thing I notice? Hollywood Video is gone. There's a Chipotle there now.

The Lutheran church where we had Scouts is still there. As is the graveyard across the street. The trailer that seemed a permanent resident in the parking lot for so many years with "Troop 542" is absent.

Further down, the DQ/now All American Recreation...site of many post-baseball parfaits is overrun with weeds.

The hotel is now a Ramada with waterpark. Charley Goodnight's is now a beach themed bar. Congratulations, Courtney and Peter...(On the sign out front, folks)

The church across from the Schulz's is still there. The ball park in front is gone, as is the bushes where we made forts. The last I remember, I used to vote in my district there when I turned 18.

Hotchkisses, Hengs, Lawreneces, Putnams, Skoogs, Dixons, Rikimotos, Speckmans, Emmons, Desrudes...all still in place. The siding is different on some, as is the shingles. A lot of "For Sale" signs. I circle my cul-de-sac to where ma and pa last sold their home in 2006. I see toys next to the neighbors (Illgen, Johnson, Peterson, Casperson...very nordic) and smack dab in the middle of my old lawn is another "For Sale" sign. 3 years later.

My elementary school is now an elementary school and rec center. My junior high is kinda the same. As is the old auditorium/theater I did my very first play...I head up 69th and not much has changed. Maranatha? Site of my big bro's first job? Still exists. In fact, nothing has changed much (Korean Evangelical Church? Check. Health Partners? Check. Post Office? Check) until you hit 69th and Brooklyn Blvd when the old Tasty outlet and Pop Shoppe shopping mall have made way for a Culver's and Subway.

Then I hit Mound cemetery after heading up a ways. I pass streets like "Georgia"..."France" (France. France! I sometimes forget my home town shared something with the Southwest suburb corner of 50th and France which neighbored my Uptown years!) and I pull in. Mom, Biggie, and I used to grab pastries from the Tastee outlet and come up there. We called the cemetary "Lambie" because of a lamb that rested on top of a tombstone. It'd be a while before I realized a lamb meant it was a grave marking for a child. A kid. Like I was. With my mini-glazed outlet donuts in their blue fold over box.


I say "Hi" to Eric.

I drive a little. I try and remember where the spot was that I remembered shortly after he passed where I saw the grave of a junior high girl (what was her name?) and it floored my 19 year old self at the time.

It's drizzling. And I realize that I'm a 34 year old man, who has just came from spending quality time with his extended family, answering family questions of how old I am/how the house is/how is Moda/etc...and I'm in a cemetery in my 15 minutes away home town.

In the rain.

I say "Bye" to Eric. And drive away. Past the industrial park that used to house the original factory of this little device called "Rollerblades" and a crappy baggy pants favored by bodybuilders, professional wrestlers, and d-bags called "Zubaz". I spy with my little eye Palmer Lake park where Ro, Dad, and I would walk Duchess with back packs full of Softner Salt to train for our backpacking trek of '89. Earle Brown is still there. So is the restaurant. And the Super 8. Aurther Treacher's Seafood/La Casita/...whatever it turned into is gutted and has a "Coming Soon" sign in front. I'm toodling some more. I need to go home.

Home, home. To Nordeast. To my garden. My freshly shorn lawn which, now, is almost glowing green. My cat. My roommate. My bed.


My home.