A Tale of Two Parties

                This last weekend, I enjoyed my evenings with friends from two very different part of my life at two very different parties.  The common factor between both (which is really a common factor to all events in St. Louis) was alcohol.  The other common factor was that both parties were celebrating new beginnings.

                Saturday, I went to a colleague’s home for a baby shower.  Thankfully, it was a couples’ baby shower, so while there was a lot of talk about fussy babies and sleepless nights, there were not any pregnancy horror stories.  It was a delightful evening with friends.  We oohed and ahhed over my friend’s newly renovated home almost as much as we did over the baby gifts; since the happy couple is having a girl, there were plenty of pink ruffle filled opportunities for cooing.  The house was fabulous; there was a small porch off of the living room for warm evenings with a book and lemonade.  The kitchen was made over with walnut cabinets and granite counter tops; the look was contemporary but fit well into traditional atmosphere of the house.

                Sunday, I went to a different friend’s new apartment for what I will describe as a housewarming party, but which he characterized as “an excuse to get the last box unpacked” party.  He just moved into a fabulous loft in on Washington.  In size, it reminded me disturbingly of my old apartment in Anchorage, but that is where the resemblance ended.  The building was open and airy with wood floors throughout, high ceilings and exposed beams.  Dinner was jambalaya and chorizo bean soup – both made from scratch. 

The company was great, with music, beer-fueled arm wrestling contests, and salsa dancing.  Figuring out the music was a trip.  The crowd was a Salsa loving group, but my friend didn’t have any Salsa music.  We ended up spinning across the floor to the tinny emanations of an IPhone.  I danced with every guy at the party, which was sweet.  However, I have to say that I have a long way to go to be comfortable dancing in a small space- I kept getting distracted thinking I would run into a wall.

When the party broke- or perhaps I should say “transitioned”- from the apartment to the Atomic Cowboy- I made good my exit.  I don’t know how late they stayed out, but I am pretty sure I was already up well past my bedtime.

All in all, a good weekend.  I hope I can finagle some more of that jambalaya someday – it was the best meal I’ve had in a long time.

Dancing Full Circle

                Back in May, I stumbled across a local Swing dance group, Southside Imperial Dance Club.  It quickly became a regular part of my routine to wander over to Kirkwood on a Sunday evening with my perfectly ugly dance shoes (really, they’re ugly) and spend a few hours twirling around the dance floor with my new friends. 

                Now, as my friends know (apparently both new and old), I’m a sucker who has difficulty with using that two letter word that all two-year-olds instinctively know, “No.”  A few weeks ago, I was asked to join Southside’s board.  This is what happens when you show up regularly, occasionally help pick up decorations, and generally make friends with the people who get things done in a group.  Of course, I said yes; this group is my group.

                This brings me to last Saturday when we and 175 of our closest dance friends celebrated the club's anniversary.  In order to accommodate our local dance family, we rented the gymnasium at the community center in Whitecliff Park in Crestwood.  With plenty of blue and silver balloons, candles, and garland, we transformed the basketball court into a dance hall.  Add a DJ, some food, and you have a party.

                The highlight of the evening was the interclub championship.  Every year, Southside invites local clubs to send their best dancers to show off their stuff.  There were five couples on the floor showing off their best footwork.  Anytime I have the pleasure of watching the gal from the winning couple, I am reminded of a quote from the movie Take the Lead:  “I'd kill to dance like that. It's like sex on hardwood.”  No, I was not surprised that she won; as one of my partners once observed, she has joints in places people aren’t supposed to have joints.

                And of course, I got to dance.  I danced fast songs and slow songs, with my favorite partners, and with new friends.  Since it was a special evening, I dressed up and spent the evening twirling in a swishy skirt.  If you don’t spend much time twirling in a swishy skirt, rest assured, it is the best way to spin. 

At the end of the evening, the crowd slowly dwindled, until there were only thirty or so of us left to boogie to the Cupid Shuffle.  As the last of the couples enjoyed the final song, we cleared the tables, unplugged the twinkle lights and pulled down the decorations.  A bit of team work, and we left the room as we found it – ready for a game of basketball.

Mud and Chocolate

While I will admit that I have not looked too very hard for a new coffee place, the loss of Middle Way Café from my life when I left Alaska is mentionable.  From the smooth coffee without a hint of bitterness to the chic décor to the friendly baristas who knew me by name and how I took my mochas, hot chocolates and lattes.  Occasionally, I have tried a new coffee place here and there in St. Louis, but have rejected more coffee than I have enjoyed.

                Yesterday, I finally found an analogous coffee place to Middle Way.  Surprisingly, my Mom called it.  Let’s step back for a moment.

                Yesterday, Mom and I decided to go check out Cherokee Row, which is a revitalized neighborhood in the Benton Park area which is known for its antique shops.  I had been down the street once severalmonths ago, but not for shopping.  All I really knew was that it had a book store that looked interesting. 

                We started our afternoon with a stop at The Mud House, a place that I only vaguely knew by reputation.  At eleven o’clock on a Saturday Morning, the place was already busy.  The crowd was relatively young and hip, but refreshingly, they weren’t parked at tables with laptops glaring up in their faces.  Most people were there for a morning with friends and conversation. 

                Mom and I both ordered hot chocolate, and she snuck in a piece of gooey butter cake while I wasn’t watching.  While Mom waited for our drinks, I found us a table near the window so we could watch the street.  Frankly, the eccentric collection of antique games and other memorabilia on the walls was more interesting than the bundled up shoppers scurrying down the chilly streets.

                When Mom came over with the hot chocolate, I knew we were in for a treat.  The heavy ceramic mugs were brimming with the fine foam that only a skilled barista can make.  No whipped cream – who needs that when your hot cocoa is already a creation of perfection?  The conversation between Mom and I went something like this:

                Mom:  “I watched the gal make these.”

                Me:  “She steamed the milk, didn’t she?”

                Mom:  “Yes, and put in lots of chocolate.”

                The hot chocolate was everything you could hope for:  Warm, foamy, and wonderfully chocolately.  When Mom got to the bottom of her mug she kept trying to get the last of the foam out.  Finally I told her to use her fork.  She gave me an incredulous look, kind of laughed, and picked up the fork.  Needless to say, there was no foam left in either cup by the time we finished. 

                The Mud House is worth the trip to Cherokee Street all by itself.  While I didn’t try out the coffee, I can tell you (because we actually went twice) that the gooey butter cake, brownies, smoothies, and sandwiches are all delicious.  Additionally, they have vegetarian options and locally source their coffee beans.  I’ll definitely be going back.

Resources:

Cherokee Antique Row:  http://antiquerow.org/

The Mud House: http://www.themudhousestl.com/

Middle Way Café (Alaska): http://www.middlewaycafe.com/

For the Book Lovers in the audience, Hammonds Books: http://www.hammondsbooks.net/

A Literary Sanctuary

Every now and then, you find a place that feeds your soul; a place where time stops, the stresses of the day melt away, and you can immerse yourself in oblivion.  The time you spend there is cathartic, a walking meditation on life, or an exploration of newly discovered interests. 

For everyone, this place might be different- a cathedral where the light streams in red, blue and green through the stained glass windows; a hike in the mountains where your shouts and laughter will only be heard by the marmots; a dance club where the music thrumbs through your body to the time of your own heartbeat.

For me, it is a book store.  Not just any book store, it is a book lover’s store.  This kind of book store is generally (though not always) a used book store.  Whether it is tidy or cramped, fastidiously organized or a natural disaster, there is a certain feel to it.  You want to run your fingers across the spines of books lined up as if you were in a fabric store playing with the reams of silk and velvet.  There is often a certain scent in the air, from the accumulation of so much paper and the dust and mold that come along with it. 

That first visit to a new store is like an exploration of the wilderness and a spiritual retreat rolled into one.  You wander the aisles learning where the different sections are and remember books that you want to read from areas that you won’t typically peruse once you are familiar with the store. 

Today, I finally made it to the Book House in Rock Hill.  I had been meaning to go for several months, but I wanted to go when I knew I would have a couple of hours to just wander through the stacks.  In some ways, I should never have waited, in others, I think that the trip would always have been emotionally draining for me.

From the street, you can tell that the Book House has great potential to be an awesome book store.  It is in a small old house that is set back off of Manchester.  But when you step inside, it hits you; this is book lover’s paradise.  There are shelves of books from floor to ceiling along every wall and in every nook and cranny that a few pages of bound paper can be made to fit. Walking up and down the stairs between floors, you have to stop to see what books are along the wall, or on the bookcase in front of you. 

Hand lettered signs hang throughout the store pointing the way to different section of books, including a very helpful sign saying that if you are looking for books on the History of the South, try the bottom shelf on the left.  (I would note that to get to that shelf, you will need to move the piles of books out from in front of it, and probably have to figure out where to put the piles that you just moved.)

In many ways, though I had never set foot in the store, it was a trip down memory lane for me.  Many of my old friends were there (offhand, Harry Potter, Isabelle Allende, Jim Butcher, Ray Bradbury, and Starhawk).  The hoard of books brought to mind the scene in Fahrenheit 451 where the woman lights her own house on fire with herself in it rather than be parted from her books.  Most wrenching perhaps, was thinking how much one of my old friends would have enjoyed exploring the store with me, and the laughter we would have shared as we both spent way too much money on books to add to our already over flowing shelves. 

So, I picked up a book on solitude (Thoreau’s Walden) and a reminder of humanity’s foibles (C. S. Lewis’s Screwtape Letters), added The Book House to my list of personal retreats, and stopped for a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream.

The Book House: http://www.bookhousestl.com/

Myth Busted

One great thing about being single is that when you find out at the last minute that a fun show is going to be in town, you don’t have to worry about whether your sweetie has different plans.  And so when I found out last Thursday that the Mythbusters were going to be in town, I didn’t even think twice about buying a ticket and making my own little date night.

                My evening started at a restaurant near the theater called Jazz at theBistro.  It was a bit pricy for a regular spot, but the flourless chocolate cake was delicious.  Next time I’m looking for a place for dessert and a cup of coffee, it will definitely be on my list.  Additionally, they have live jazz concerts every week; I was a bit too early to hear the music, but I imagine it is wonderful.

                After dinner, I walked to the theater, the Fabulous Fox.  The exterior façade is really cool, but it doesn’t prepare you for the fabulous interior.  The word that comes to mind is arabesque, but even that doesn’t capture the incredible woodwork, soaring columns, fanciful statuary and stained glass that adorns every square foot of the theater.  I gawked at the decor from the time I walked in the door until the show started.

                As for the show, “Behind the Myths” was part physics horse and pony show, part behind the scenes look at their show, part bloopers reel, and plenty of classic Adam and Jamie.  For the physics parts, they talked a lot about how forces work (including a demonstration of Jamie breaking a brick on Adam’s stomach with a sledge hammer while Adam laid on a bed of nails) and some about fluid dynamics (Adam is probably the only person who can compare the bang made by an exploding hot water tank to falling in love and make it convincing).   The coolest trick in the show was when they took two phonebooks where the pages had been shuffled together like a deck of cards and used it as a carabiner of sorts to hoist Adam off the ground.

They had a couple of audience Q&A sessions where they took questions about everything from Jamie’s mustache to the recent historic jump by Felix Baumgartner.  They shared with us technical and legal aspects of putting together the show, including some of their dealings with their insurance company, a fiasco involving a cannon ball, and their commitment to and actions with respect to safety.  According to Adam, the worst injuries that they have had on the show have totaled three broken fingers. 

Throughout the show, their humor and love for the kind of work they do flowed through.  From their stories about their experiments, to their goofs with the audience (who were invited to participate in many of their tricks), they were engaging and fun to watch.  It was a fabulous was to spend a Sunday evening.

Resources:

Jazz at the Bistro: http://jazzstl.org/jazz-at-the-bistro/

The Fabulous Fox Theater: http://www.fabulousfox.com/

Mythbusters Tour: http://www.mythbusterstour.com/

My Secret Life As A Canvasser

*Disclaimer – there are no politics discussed in this post*

                This election cycle, one of the candidates raised my hackles with a badly worded comment.  And so, I found myself (uncharacteristically) volunteering for a political campaign.   I wasn’t so much supporting a particular candidate as I was working to defeat a complete imbecile in what (sadly) has turned out to be a hotly contested race.  My contribution to this effort was to go canvassing door to door, an activity that took me from as far north as St. Ann, down to South County and from Maplewood in the east to Chesterfield in the west.

                While I can’t say that I saw “everything” while out canvassing, each trip out had the potential for a bit of adventure.   My very first evening out canvassing was closed out when a man met me at the door while holding a ball-peen hammer.  No, I’m not really sure why he was holding a hammer, but I’m pretty sure he wasn’t using it to make artsy copper jewelry. 

                When they send you out canvassing, they give you a list of voters to ask for at each home.  One of my favorite experiences occurred when I asked a lady whether her daughter was home.  She got all excited and asked “are you here to talk to her about voting?”  Umm… Yes.  I was.  She invited me in and went and got her daughter, who had recently turned 18 and was voting for the first time.  The mother was more excited about the whole process than the daughter, and I was glad that I was supposed to be doing the “get out and vote” version of the script rather than the “persuade voters” version.  As ugly as this year’s election has been, I’d rather talk to a new voter about the process than be another discordant voice in the cacophony.

                On the head-shaking and eyeball rolling front, I ran into one gentleman who was so firmly committed to the other party that when I attempted to hand him a piece of literature, reacted as though I had cooties.  Seriously, was he afraid that looking at a flyer would shake the bedrock of his political beliefs?  Or that gazing at a photo of the opposing candidate might move him to question how he intended to vote?  I imagine him going out to the sidewalk with a bucket of bleach water to wash the germs off from my passing…

                And of course, I discovered once again that it’s a small world after all.  At one home that I visited, I met a lady that I go to church with.  In a back of the envelope calculation, I figure I knocked on approximately 300 doors, and spoke to 100 people, from which I extrapolate that I know approximately 1% of registered voters.  Given that there are approximately 700,000 registered voters in St. Louis County, I think I can safely say that I have met approximately 7,000 people over the last several months.  Okay, so maybe not “safely”- but out of the 700,000 potential voters on my list, it is a bit wild that I ran into someone I know.

                In the end, all I have to say is get out and vote.  Whatever your political views, angst about the ugliness of this year’s campaign, beef about the economy, annoyance about whoever’s handling of whatever social issue, make sure your vote is counted.

Reflections On My New Home

This week marks seven months since I moved to St. Louis.  When I left Alaska, it was with sadness to leave my friends, but with eagerness and excitement to start a new life.  I was looking forward to crafting my life from the ground up, making new friends, finding new haunts, and rediscovering myself.

Along the way, you have patiently followed bits and pieces of this adventure.  You have come dancing with me, enjoyed some hot cocoa, taken numerous walks in thepark, and shopped vicariously through me.  When I moved here, I assumed I would be spending three or four nights a week on a jiu-jitsu mat, and instead I find myself spending that time on a dance floor.  I figured I would be lonely the first several months, searching for friends, struggling to find a place; instead everywhere I go now, I find people who are genuinely happy to see me again.

Life is what we make it, and I find that the life that I am making for myself is wonderful and fulfilling.   There is a certain balance to my life that for many years was missing; emotional, social, physical, spiritual- all of these things are coming together in a cornucopia of life.

No, it has not always been an easy journey.  My first couple of months, I did every random thing that crossed my path as I searched for those routines that would help define this new chapter of my life.  This led me to a gymnastics meet, outdoorconcerts, and the occasional farmers' market.  Some of these have become integral parts of my life (such as swing dancing), and others have a definite “been there, done that” flavor (Area 51). 

I have made awesome new friends, some for gossip, and others for hugs, and many more for a smile or a laugh any time. 

I’ve also learned a lot about myself.  My sense of rhythm is not awful, as I have always believed.  It is just poorly developed- a skill rather than an innate talent.  Meeting people is not a difficult task, it is just another skill (which was also poorly developed).  Downtime is something to be appreciated, but like so many things in life, it is easier to appreciate when it is not excessive.

Where will I be at this time next year?  I don’t know.  But I look forward to continuing to share my adventures- there are more parks, festivals, museums, restaurants, concerts, races, flea markets, dances and neighborhoods to wander through.  Some of them may be places we have gone before, but that’s okay.  This is my home now.

Thank you for continuing on this journey with me. 

A few fall pictures from Forest Park for your enjoyment:

Dancing Chairs

Art – pretty, bold, intricate, minimal, visceral.

Some art simply seems to decorate a space, providing some relief from the monotony of a beige concrete wall.  Other art tells a clear story or captures a particular scene.  Occasionally art is so abstract that it seems incomprehensible to anyone except the artist who created it (and even then you wonder if they really had something in mind).  Finally, on rare occasion, you will come across a piece of artwork that simply speaks to you, engendering an almost visceral reaction, bringing you back to it time after time, hoping that you can recapture that initial feeling of wonder.

                This summer, I came across a sculpture like that here in St. Louis. 

                The first time I saw the Dancing Chairs was in August when I was playing Kickball for Kids.  I was wandering around the perimeter of the game fields and came upon it.  I stopped, and the strains of B. B. King singing “Saturday Night Fish Fry” floated through my head as the chairs came alive and danced before my eyes.

                I could see the turns and sugar pushes, the walks, the sweat hearts, and the neck wraps.  The synergy between the lead and follow was perfect; the dance expressed joy and laughter, transporting the dancers into their own personal world.

                More than that, I saw myself dancing on that grassy dance floor, moving my hips to a lively beat, and twirling my cares away as the singer in my mind's song was being dragged out from under the bathtub. 

                I skipped a few steps down the sidewalk, dancing from one end of the sculpture to the other, imagining the choreography that would capture the dance the chairs were engaged in, before I ran off to play some more kickball.

                The sculpture is Dancing Chairs by Rod Baer.  It is located just to the north of the ball fields of Shaw Park in Clayton.

Description: http://www.art-stl.com/public-art/public-art-details.cfm?pid=147&title=Dancing%20Chairs&artist1=Rod%20Baer

A Bit of Cool and Missourians Pull Out the Winter Coats...

                With a bit of nip in the air, my new hometown has decided that the cold has arrived, and they should bundle up in parkas, scarves, and mittens.  I must say that I get some odd looks running around in sleeveless shirts because it just isn’t cold enough yet to admit defeat to autumn.  But yes, I have also pulled out my sweatshirts, my fun ponchos, and all the wonderful fall clothing that I got weird looks wearing in summer in Alaska, but fall was too cold to enjoy them.

                Out into a cool, but sunny, autumn afternoon I ventured yesterday.  At the Botanical Gardens, they were hosting a “Best of Missouri” festival, with local restaurants, crafters, and vintners selling their products.  The festival was packed with people, to the point that moving from one booth to the next was akin to being caught in a river current.  You couldn’t stop if you wanted to in some places.  There was live music perfect for dancing, and a kids’ craft area back near the amphitheater.  The photo is from the food area, which was not quite as crammed with people.  

                Honestly though, the best part for me was the excuse to go walk through the gardens again.  Even with fall here, it was a riot of color with flowers in bloom, trees turning color, and all of the statuary again in prominence after the Lantern Festival. 

Parking hint for next year during the Best of Missouri – just give up on finding parking to begin with, park down at the back end of the garden by Tower Grove Park and walk.  It is a lovely neighborhood full of old houses, and the parking near the front of the garden is an absolute nightmare for this particular event.

Missouri Botanical Gardens: http://www.missouribotanicalgarden.org/

The Confluence

                My dad delights in annoying me- that friendly pestering that as a child made me squeal, and as an adult generally either embarrasses me or makes me laugh.  This, of course, is his prerogative as Dad.  Yesterday, we got each other with the word “confluence.”

                It began with a stop at the Lewis and Clark State Memorial Park which is located in Illinois on the Mississippi River.  It is located near where Lewis and Clark camped before crossing the Mississippi River and continuing up the Missouri River on their exploration of the west.  Mom asked where the Missouri River joined the Mississippi River and I told her that I thought that the confluence was a bit north of where we were.  Dad had to make fun of me for pulling out a polysyllabic vocabulary word.

                After taking some pictures and discussing the merits of fishing the river for catfish, we continued on to an observation tower that I had found a few weeks ago.  As we pulled in, we discovered, much to our amusement, that it is named the Lewis and Clark Confluence Tower. 

                The Confluence Tower is a relatively new monument to the intrepid explorers.  The view from the top of the tower sweeps from Alton, IL in the north to Saint Louis in the south.  However, the real highlight of the view is the confluence of the Mississippi and Missouri Rivers.  From the tower, you can easily see the Missouri flowing into the Mississippi from a unique perspective.

                After we came down from the tower, Mom wanted to take a picture of me with this great fountain in the monument’s courtyard.  It is one of those fountains where the spout is flush with the ground, and the courtyard and fountain form a continuous plane.  From when I first saw it, I had visions of kids running through it in the summer burning off energy built up during a road trip while cooling off.  Mom’s idea of taking a picture of me included me standing a few feet from it and smiling, but I had a different plan.  After giving her instructions to click the shutter as soon as I entered the frame “because I’m only doing this once”, I took the plunge, quite literally. 

                To say I got soaked would be completely accurate.  Mom thinks that I would have won the wet t-shirt contest if there was one and the look of absolute disbelief on Dad’s face was worth having to wear damp jeans for the rest of the day.  Thankfully, I had a fleece jacket in the car, so I changed into a dry top, and we continued on our merry way.

Note: A special thank you to Mom for this week’s pictures.

Lewis and Clark State Memorial Park: http://www.stateforests.com/lewis_and_clark_state_memorial_park_in_illinois.html

Lewis and Clark Confluence Tower: http://www.confluencetower.com/index.cfm

The Ultimate Chocolate Experience

Everyone knows that when you get that craving on a Saturday afternoon for a bit of chocolate, it can easily be satisfied with a Hershey’s bar from the local QuikTrip, when you want to make the stockings a bit upscale at Christmas, you throw in a Lindt milk chocolate Santa, and when you want to spoil your Mom, you bring her a box of Godivas (or sometimes, she spoils you and buys you both chocolate covered strawberries...).

However, here in St. Louis, when you want to do Chocolate right, there is Bissinger’s.

Saturday, a girl friend and I decided to have a bit of dessert before we started on an evening of dancing until our feet hurt.  Having consulted my favorite concierge, Google, I discovered that there is a Bissinger’s shop in the Central West End.  In addition to making some of the smoothest dark chocolate you will ever experience, they have a café that serves a variety of desserts. 

We found a parking spot conveniently located close to the dance club, and walked over to the Bissinger’s.  (If you haven’t spent time in Central West End, let me assure you that this is a fun walk, with lots of people out enjoying the local restaurants and hip shops.)

Stepping into Bissinger’s is akin to walking into the Tiffany’s of chocolate shops.  The counter is lined with delectable looking truffles and boxes of tasty delights.  I’m pretty sure that I could spend more on one pound of chocolate than I spend on groceries for a week.  The host led us to a low table with some very comfortable chairs that we would have killed for a few hours later when our feet were aching from dancing.

Looking over the menu, the decision was extraordinarily difficult to make.  Chocolate Truffle Tart?  White Chocolate Blueberry Bread Pudding?  Decadent Chocolate Brownie?  I couldn’t make a decision!  In the end, my miserly nature kicked in and I ordered a hot chocolate.  How boring is that?  Seriously, I’m confronted with what is quite possibly the most extravagant list of desserts that I could wish for, and I order a hot chocolate?  Ohh, but I don’t regret that decision. 

The hot chocolate came out in white porcelain mugs, topped with a generous helping of real whipped cream and chocolate shavings.  It was frothy and wonderful, so wonderful looking that I whipped out my Iphone to take some pictures and memorize the moment.  And then, I sipped it – smooth, chocolately, with overtones of vanilla, just the right temperature to enjoy. 

Sitting in my comfortable chair, with a cup of hot cocoa goodness, and a good friend to enjoy the evening with, I could only reflect on the joy of life’s simple pleasures.  This was a place where time could stop, and two friends could relax and giggle like little girls pretending to be sophisticates while talking about boys and clothes and books and whatever else girl friends talk about.  It was a with a certain but short lived reluctance that we left Bissinger’s for the rest of our evening’s adventures.

Bissinger’s at Maryland Plaza
Central West End
32 Maryland Plaza
Saint Louis, Missouri 63108

http://www.bissingers.com/

Jazz in the Air, on the Street, and in the Community

                There is a cool scent in the air that only comes when summer turns toward autumn; it is the rich scent of damp earth and newly fallen leaves.  For me, it is a bittersweet fragrance because for, so many years, it was the precursor to months of darkness and social hibernation.  I have to wonder what adventures the winter will bring me here in my new hometown.  For now though, I will enjoy the last of the summer hurrahs.

                Saturday night one of those hurrahs was the Old Webster Jazz and Blues Festival.  The festival is held each year in historic Webster Groves, a delightful area filled with restaurants and shops.  A friend and I wandered down to the festival in the middle of the afternoon, and found relatively easy parking back in the neighborhoods.  Since we didn’t see anyone toting around lawn chairs, we left ours in the car, grabbed our cameras and water bottles and headed towards the stages. 

There were two stages set up and rocking all afternoon and into the night.  The mix of music included classic and contemporary jazz, blues, and a bit of rock and roll.  The music was great and the people watching was excellent.  We found a couple of chairs and settled in for an afternoon of entertainment.

Up near the stage, there were couples swinging to the music and random people throughout the crowd would stand up in the middle of songs to dance along.  When the bands took breaks, there was a group of street musicians that wandered through the crowd ensuring that just because the main show wasn’t playing, the music was flowing.

I think that the best surprise of the afternoon was the Webster Groves High School Band.  They were very accomplished and smooth, and a joy to listen to.  Their repertoire was diverse and featured solos by various students throughout.

The food was awesome, and restaurants all through the district were open and busy.  We tried the homemade potato chips from CJMuggs, and they were addictive.  We also made a stop in at Dr. Jazz Ice Cream Parlor for a scoop of heaven on a waffle cone.  (Dr. Jazz is worth a trip to Webster Groves all by itself.)

Sadly, due to us both being a bit under the weather, we decided to leave before the headline acts performed, but this is something I am definitely putting on my calendar for next year.

Resources:

Old Webster Jazz and Blues Festival: http://www.oldwebsterjazzfestival.com/cpsiteframepage.lasso?-token.lpuserref=114131.113118

CJ Muggs:  http://www.cjmuggs.com/

Dr. Jazz Ice Cream Parlor:  http://www.drjazzwebstergroves.com/ 

Rollin’ On The River

                What elements combine to ensure a fantastic and memorable weekend?  Good music?  Hanging out with old friends?  Making new friends?  Dancing until your feet hurt and the DJ goes home?  If these sound like the ingredients to a memorable weekend, then we are cruising on the same steamboat to Rollin’ On The River, an annual Swing dancing shindig hosted by the West County Swing Dance Club.

                The weekend kicked off late Thursday night when my best friend from college (whom I hadn’t seen in over ten years) arrived in St. Louis from Arizona wearing a leopard print cowboy hat.  I’d forgotten how tall she is, but I had not forgotten her wry sense of humor and easy going nature.  All of these, by the way, worked in her favor for getting dance partners as the weekend went on.

                Saturday morning, we drug our exhausted bodies out of bed and went to some dance workshops in the morning, took a nap in the afternoon, and then danced the night away.  Our dance partners included people from Chicago, Indiana, Cincinnati, and elsewhere.  Over 500 people from 26 states joined in the fun.  For me, the evening was about getting comfortable dancing with new people and learning to relax into it.  There were so many new people to dance with, and the atmosphere was so much more relaxed, almost euphoric, than any of the regular dances I go to here in town.

                For my “Tall Friend from Arizona”, as she came to be known, I quickly discovered that all of my worries that she might feel left out were completely unfounded.  She was the hit of the dance floor.  Between her stature, excellence as a dancer, and willingness to ask people to dance, she had no lack of partners all weekend long.

                Over the course of the weekend, we made new friends and grew as dancers.  I actually started hearing the music that I dance to, rather than perceiving it as a distraction to the physical feedback I was trying to sense in my partners’ frames.  Some of my regular partners commented that my dancing had smoothed out (although I still bungle their leads every now and then).  Some of the guys from out of town came and found me for second and third and fourth dances, an enormous boost to my confidence on the dance floor.

                My friend rediscovered the joy of dancing in a more social setting than her school offers.  In what may sound like a strange comment, she also discovered that she can unconsciously follow a lead when one of the out of town guys started her off in a Fox Trot; she didn’t realize until halfway through the song that they weren’t doing a swing.  For her, that Fox Trot was the most memorable dance of the weekend.

                After three nights of dancing until our feet hurt and we were too woozy with the late hours to make coherent conversation, we hung up our dancing shoes and started making plans for next year’s Rollin’ On The River. 

Web Resources:

• Rollin' On the River: http://www.wcsdc.com/ROTRPage.html
• Sponsored by the West County Swing Dance Club: http://www.wcsdc.com/
• Sanctioned by the American Bop Association: http://www.americanbopassociation.com/
• A Shameless Plug for my Club, Southside Imperial Swing Dance Club: http://www.southsidedance.org/

Around the World in 80 Minutes (Well, More Like 3 Hours)

            From fruit filled empanadas to curry to egg rolls-

from strawberry lemonade to coconut juice to Thai iced tea-

from Irish jigs to Haitian rhythms to Kung Fu-

It was at the Festival of Nations.

Today, people from different cultures around the world came together at Tower Grove Park to share the music and flavors of their home with the rest of St. Louis.

My afternoon started with a beautiful walk through Tower Grove Park.  On the path through the park, numerous families walked with me, and I got my first impression of the diversity that the festival attracted – an Indian family passed me by as I was taking pictures of the trees, an African family sat on the bench while the father fanned his young daughter, and a gaggle of American teenagers chattered on their cell phones trying to locate another one of their friends.

As I got closer to the festival, the crowd of people on the path with me got denser.  Music wafted through the trees, not the jazz and blues I have become accustomed to here in St. Louis, but the syncopated rhythms of Caribbean.  The air smelled rich with curry, but every time the breeze changed it was a different curry. 

To my great delight, I ran into one of my friends.  (Just how cool is it that I know enough people in my new hometown that I can run into them in random situations?)  We decided to explore the fair together and started with the food row.  After walking up and down the row checking out each of the booths, we stopped at the Jamaican booth for jerked chicken and rum cake.  The food was delicious; apparently the word had gotten around because it had one of the longest lines of any of the booths. 

We took our food over to one of the pavilions and watched a band from Haiti while we ate.  In a bizarre aside, a guy who was sharing our picnic table with turned to us and gave his testimony.  (Right on, Brother!  Amen! Can I finish my rum cake now?)  I’m still not sure if he was in the exact wrong place or the exact right place for his mission today; the crowd represented just as diverse a faith base as the vendors. 

After lunch, we walked around to the different vendors and checked out the silver jewelry from Mexico, purses and scarves from Ecuador, the nested dolls from Russia, and carved figurines from various African nations.  Little girls were running around the festival with parasols from China, and someone was selling whistles which added to the cacophony.

Throughout the festival stages were set-up and featured different performers such as a troupe of young women playing taiko drums and a group of kids doing Irish jigs. We saw one gal dressed in a sequined dress who from her hair style I would bet money was demoing South American dance (tango, rumba, cha-cha? I didn’t get to see her perform). 

In all, it was an exciting way to spend the afternoon, not to mention the serendipity of a friend to share it with.  So many different people, from all walks of life were out to enjoy the afternoon, eat some food, and listen to the music. 

http://www.festivalofnationsstl.org/

And Jill Came Tumbling After...

Forest Park is a place of great delights.  Some of the fun I have shared here (TheJewel Box), other fun perhaps was over shadowed (Shakespeare in the Park).  A few weeks ago, I discovered another center of joy in Forest Park – Art Hill.

Art Hill is a grassy expanse of lawn that separates the Art Museum from the Grand Basin.  The first afternoon that I came upon the Hill, I was escaping the air-conditioning in order to enjoy the summer heat.  The Hill was covered in gigantic paper cranes.  The cranes had been battered by a thunderstorm, but it was still an incredible sight.

This last weekend, a friend and I joined in with several hundred other people in an attempt to break the record for most people doing a somersault at the same time.  A bit before 2pm, people began gathering on Art Hill, covering the hillside like the cranes had a few weeks before. 

Typical of Forest Park, a complete cross section of Saint Louis was represented.  Some people had read about the event in the paper, others were just wandering by and decided to check out the excitement.  Lots of families with small children, a whole squad of cheerleaders, and the random bicyclist were ready to go rolling down the hill, grass stains and all.

We stood around on the hill in reasonably neat lines for 45 minutes or so waiting for the signal to roll.  I think that they were waiting as long as possible in order to get as many people to roll as they could.  The official record that we were trying to break was 835 people. 

When the air horn went off, we all went tumbling head over heels down the hill.  Thankfully, it was not in the best tradition of Jack and Jill, and everyone’s crowns came out intact, if somewhat disheveled.

Sadly, according to the paper, we did not manage to break the record.  However, the fun of joining 700+ of my fellow Forest Park fanatics for a roll down Art Hill was worth the trip out.

About the cranes: http://www.stltoday.com/suburban-journals/metro/life/backstopper-fundraiser-on-art-hill-raises/article_d271424e-e438-5a6a-9fb5-0b011d75f17e.html

The record attempt:  http://www.stltoday.com/news/local/metro/somersault-record-attempt-fails-but-fun-had-by-all/article_aab9db9b-5809-52fb-8f59-14d69152cb0e.html

Batman Versus the Ninja

                In a battle of the warriors, who wins, Batman or the Ninja?  Both have stealth on their side, cool weapons, and great fight moves.  And they both have their very own roller coasters at Six Flags St. Louis. 

                Today, a friend and I played hooky (okay, so we responsibly put in for vacation a few weeks ago) and went to get our adrenaline fix at Six Flags.  It was a perfect day to be in the park.  The weather was cool with a bit of overcast and schools are starting up, so while there were kids there, the park didn’t feel overrun. 

                Wanting to get the most out of our rather pricy tickets (plus parking fees) we arrived at opening, and, relatively methodically, went around the park riding different roller coasters.  Okay, so we also threw in a carrousel, some water rides, and this fantastic swing ride, but we were there for the roller coasters.

                Our first ride was American Thunder, a wooden roller coaster with some steep drops, but even better were the tight, tight corners.  I’ll admit that perhaps my choice of pancakes and bacon at the Cracker Barrel was perhaps not the best choice before getting on this ride.  However, the second time around (after my breakfast had some time to settle), it was awesome.  Distinctly awesome.

                Next up was Batman, a loop-de-loop of a ride, where your feet dangle in the open air while you sail up and down and around and around in an awesome corkscrew.  Coming into the platform, the ride leaves you dizzy from the spinning and high from an adrenaline rush rarely equaled.  Coming off the ride, the only thing I wanted to do was turn around and get right back on it. 

                Sadly, compared to Batman, the Ninja was a disappointment.  It still had some fun loop-de-loops, but I guess that a few throwing stars can’t compare to the bat mobile.  For future reference, I’ll ride the Ninja first and then get on the Batman, or maybe just put a few more rides between the two.  Don’t get me wrong, the Ninja is an awesome roller coaster, it just didn’t give me the same rush.

                The Screamin’ Eagle, another wooden roller coaster, is apparently the oldest roller coaster in the park.  At first it reminded me of Zingo from the (now defunct) Bell’s Amusement Park in Tulsa.  However, I think that it must be Zingo’s big brother.  The ride had bounce and roll that viscerally reminded me of Zingo, but it went on and on.  Where some of the rides were over all too quickly, this one allowed the pleasure of the ride to be fully realized before the ride came to the end.

                If I were to rank my favorite rides of the day, the last roller coaster we rode would be #2 behind Batman.  The Boss, so rightly named, is at the pinnacle of his career.  Or perhaps the pinnacle of his first hill sets up the ride for an exhilarating race up and down some of the most amazing hills of the day.  It was another ride where as soon as I got off the only thing I wanted to do was get in line again.

                Sadly, the day had to come to an end, and we didn’t get to ride either the Pandemonium or Mr. Freeze.  However, both looked like they were worth making another day’s trip to Six Flags; even if they don’t turn out to be super cool rides, Batman and the Boss will more than make up for it.

Six Flags St. Louis: http://www.sixflags.com/stLouis/index.aspx

A Walk Through Lafayette Park

A few weeks ago, I spent an afternoon wandering around Lafayette Park.  In size, you can walk from one side of Lafayette Park to the other in a few minutes, passing statues, ducks, and lawns begging for picnic blankets.  In gardens, Lafayette Park can be made into a whole day's outing.  There are two distinct garden areas in the park.  The first is a tree lined garden walk that is bordered with black eyed susans and chunks of crystal encrusted limestone.  The second is larger series of flower beds that follows the stream that flows out from the park's pond.

In addition to the gardens, they have several statues, and three Revolutionary War era canons that were dredged up from the Charleston Harbor.  And of course, the park is surrounded by gorgeous old houses.

The afternoon that I was there was typically hot, and there were not many people out enjoying the park.  However, in milder weather, the park must be filled with people throwing frisbees, flying kites, and having picnics.  As with many of the local neighborhoods, Lafayette Park has a series of outdoor concerts, and even sponsors movie nights.  Later this summer, they are showing Madagascar.

I always love the black-eyed susans.  Even when all the other wildflowers seem to have given up, their perky blossoms line the road side in swathes of yellow.

It is worth your while to click on the rock above and see the crystals.  When I first saw the rocks lining the flower beds, I thought to myself, oh, more limestone.  Then the abundant crystal formations glittered in the sunlight. 

These are one of two flowers that every time I see them, I remember one of my girlfriends back in Alaska.  Her garden always featured beautiful tiger lilies and hostas. 

The swan spent the better part of an hour grooming itself.  I know, I watched.  However, given how green the water was, I can only imagine the ick that it needed to get out of its feathers. 

 I was delighted to find this hosta in bloom, again thinking of my Alaskan friend.