This boy and I once had a childhood,
and in it we were each other's it.
You know what I mean, when you just have to be next to a person to know that you're home, and to understand yourself in a way that only that person can bring out of you?
For better or for worse, those childhood realities evolve into memories, once you grow up and move on with your life. But every once in awhile, you capture a glimpse, you re-live a moment:
In our case, by going beyond our childhood this past weekend,
to Inwood Iowa,
the place our father was born and raised,
and the current home of our grandparents.
Besides the fun of just being together over an extended period of time [a phenomenon that has not occurred in probably 5 or so years], there were some themes to our trip that made it memorable:
1) Games, in the shape of Quality Time with our grandparents [our first and foremost goal, and speaking of memories, and speaking of our childhood]
2) Foreign objects, including farm equipment, barren roads, and nicely-smiling-and-even-helpful people
3) History, in the form of Keith our historian, and a wide variety of Antiques and,
[Yes, our thoughtful grandparents provided entertainment in a variety of shapes and sizes, in order to give us memories to last a lifetime...]
Here's how it went down:
We boarded a plane.
We flew to Omaha Nebraska, rented a car, and took a leisurely 6 hours to drive ourselves across the border into our heritage.
We took in the sights,
and soaked them into our Jersey-thickened skin,
marvels like trains a hundred or so cars linked
stretching far into the horizon,
windmills looming larger than life,
water towers announcing where we'd landed,
farm machinery the likes of which
we'd only seen in our father's memories,
castles.
Castles?
Yes, castles. We shared laughs at the weirdly incongruous moments, like the bizarre little [castle-y] town of Ida Grove, like cars that--after we'd been on the road alone for hours--appeared out of nowhere and just in time to interrupt Keith's picture-taking moment,
like the irony of being the only people in the state with a title other than 'truck driver' to actually get stuck in traffic.
We remarked with Jersey-fied shakes of our heads at the momentary blips through towns that disappeared from our view before we could blink,
and stopped in the quaint one of Cherokee, having gotten bitten by the antiquing bug that beckoned us from the sidewalk.
We perused the history the shop had to offer us,
and brought our interest with us,
spending at least a part of the next few days
in similar places,
gazing on similar items.
We dragged our patient grandparents along,
though they were perfectly pleased to show us around,
but returned on our own when we didn't want to join the routine of afternoon napping
[a temptation I gave into one day, but am glad did not let me miss this intriguing find on the next...].
When not antiquing [or napping],
we prepared food for ourselves and for a church potluck
held on Sunday morning,
where Doritos played an intriguing role,
and where Keith and Fonda's Amazing Meatballs
were a definite hit.
After our eating was cleared,
evenings found us at the dining room table
resting in the togetherness that games provide,
mixed with a healthy dose of conversation
and a little bit of stringent competition.
[We're still not sure who won...]
Our time together was very special.
It was so special, in fact, that a little friend wanted to join us.
Keith welcomed him to the games with a tennis racket, but sadly,
I don't think the little guy understood it was meant for his doom.
[Turns out, Keith and Grandma make quite a team, and I mean in more than just making killer meatballs...]
After a lovely, peaceful, restful weekend
Grandpa treated us to breakfast in town
as our time together came to an end.
We loaded the car and waved sadly good-bye, grateful for quality time with these people we come from, these people we love.
We headed back to the airport, marveling at the quiet, the very nicely helpful people, the stress-less-ness of it all.
We boarded the plane, and flew home.
We emerged from the gate into a crowd of angry scowlers, and pushed our way through them. I looked at Keith and he looked at me, and we smiled, reading each other's thoughts:
We're not in Iowa anymore.
Iowa is a place like no other. It's where we come from, it's what our loved ones know. It's a place we'll hold in our hearts as home, no matter how little it belongs to us.
Our weekend was one
of re-living the past and fully living the present.
It was a weekend of:
Good.
Thanks Grandma and Grandpa--we loved being with you, learning and remembering where we come from!
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