Wednesday, December 6, 2023

It’s Me And Two Air Fryers

It's Me And Two Air Fryers

cheryloreglia

Dec 6

Sums Up Our Entire Weekend

"Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory." Dr. Seuss

Resurrecting beloved traditions is never what you imagined. Believe me, it can't be done, but Nancy and I tried anyway and entered into a messy conflict between our current reality and all those redacted memories we've stored so carefully in our nimble brains.

If I learned one thing from this weekend, it's this. You can't go back, only forward in life; by the way, change is not fickle. She's consistent and relentless.

Nancy and I unwittingly resurrected a beloved tradition we shared with our Mom for over a decade, as if we were participating in a seance, and let me just say, the experience was filled with spirited blessings.

Every year, without fail, Nancy and I flew into the Portland airport the first weekend of December. Mom scooped us up in her four-door sedan, and we drove directly to the Lakeshore Inn on the northern banks of Lake Owego—a swanky suburb of Portland.

When Mom was struggling with securing Christmas presents for six grandkids, four adult kids, and a slew of relatives, Nancy and I came to the rescue.

We decided on Portland because there is no sales tax. It's a little over an hour's drive for Mom, so she booked rooms at the only Inn on the lake because it was close to the Clackamas Mall and lots of good restaurants. I know what you're thinking, and you're probably right.

We made that annual trip until our beloved Mom departed from this world.

Now that our girls are grown, Nancy and I wanted to resume the tradition, spend some time with our daughters, and open up all those beloved memories as if a gift from the past.

Are you imagining Pandora's Box?

I got a text from Julie early this morning, hours before we needed to leave for the airport. She says, "What is the dinner plan?"

I text back, "You are so your father, but not to worry, there's a charming restaurant right next to the hotel. We can grab a bite there after we check in."

I get a thumbs up.

Pulling into the Lakeshore Inn in our rented minivan, overflowing with suitcases and carry-ons, I slip into a wide spot at the very end of the parking lot. It's dark outside, it's well after 8:00 pm, and all of us are tired and hungry.

Julie says, "This is where you stayed every year?" (her tone is incredulous)

Tammy says, "Why?"

Nancy jumps out, "Yes, and it's exactly as I remembered it."

I join Nancy at the fence overlooking the lake and glance around the building to the back of the hotel. I say, "Look, the pool is steaming. It must still be heated. Did you all bring your bathing suit?"

The girls look aghast.

Tammy says, "There's no fence around the deck, and it's a ten-foot drop. That can't be right."

Julie says, "Seems a little sketchy to me and Mom. And no one brought a bathing suit but you."

Nancy says, "The lake is down ten feet. They do this every five years so the residents can fix plumping issues and restore the foundations of their docks. Too bad it landed on our weekend."

This reminds me of the living water that flows beneath our lives, and yes, sometimes, it has to be drained for repairs.

I nod my agreement, "It's not as pretty. Oh well, let's go check in and find a place to eat."

With a slight panic, Julie says, browsing her phone with her index finger, "Everything closes at 9:00 pm, and it's 8:30 pm, Mom."

Of course, check-in took forever. When I asked why it was taking so long, the receptionist said they had to re-input all our information because they just installed a new system. Of course, they did.

Life rarely goes the way you plan, so the five of us stood there and waited as patiently as possible while our dinner options disappeared one by one.

We finally got our keys and quickly dumped our luggage in the rooms. Julie and Tammy have been researching restaurants on their phones and are positive nothing is open.

We head out on foot towards the restaurant we used to go to for a quick dinner. It was no longer there. Are you detecting a trend?

Julie says, "Hey, there's a Firemen's Pub a block away with bar food. It's better than nothing."

Tammy says, "Let's go."

Mackenzie says, "Are we walking?"

"Yes!"

When we arrive at the crowded pub we find a table near the door that fits all of us. Kelley will be arriving around 10:30 pm, so we want to be back in time to meet her at the hotel.

A friendly bartender comes around the bar and says, "What can I get you, ladies?"

The girls order beer, Nancy and I, a glass of wine, and Mackenzie a large Coke to go with the pudding she has stashed in her backpack. Why didn't I think of that?

Julie says, "We'd like to order some food, too."

He says, "I'll grab some menus, but we don't have any greens today, and there's only me and two air fryers."

He reaches around the bar for some sticky menus and slides them onto our table.

We all look at each other and start giggling.

I say, "Two air fryers and me. What the hell does that mean?"

Tammy says, "It means we're not ordering food here."

Julie says, "Absolutely not."

Nancy's like, "What about the pretzel?"

I nod my head in agreement.

Julie and Tammy, in unison, say, "No."

So, after a round of drinks, Julie says, "It's been twenty-four hours since I've had a meal. What are you feeding me?"

I start browsing my phone for anything open and find a Safeway a few blocks away.

Nancy and I loaded up with enough groceries to feed an entire army for a week. You know when Julie's hangry, you feed her.

Kelley walks into our foodfest a half hour later, laughing.

She says, "My taxi driver wouldn't let me get out of the car until he checked this place out. He thought it was abandoned. I'm not kidding."

I defend our little hotel, "We're all here, and I think it's charming," even though I can't help but notice the dated interior.

Nancy says, "Me too!" She glances around the room at the same fixtures we remember from decades ago, but at least it's clean.

Around midnight, Nancy took her crew to their room just one door down, and we all changed into our PJs.

Can I just say that sleeping in the same room with your adult daughters is enlightening? Enough said.

First thing in the morning, Kelley walks into our room and whips open the drapes, carrying a box of donuts. She's on East Coast time and was up before 6:00 am.

Nancy and I are excited to take the girls to our favorite Starbucks right across the street. It's one of our favorite memories. It has a rustic fireplace in the center of the space, always lit during the winter and decorated with Christmas lights in December. It's beyond charming.

And guess what, it was not the same.

They took out the fireplace to make room for more tables. There were no twinkle lights, and the ambiance was lost to what I call a modern decor. We ordered our coffees and piled back in the van so Nancy and I could give them a tour of our lake.

They streamed Christmas music from their phones as Nancy and I tried to remember the way around the lake, the roads with the best views, and the most appealing spots to ogle at the enchanting houses. Although the lake was down ten feet, and you had to imagine the water in some areas, it was as spectacular as we remembered. I could see our daughters were delighted by the unique lakefront, lush landscape, and exceptional panoramas.

And this is where our weekend veered off course and never returned.

After our tour of the lake, we headed out on foot to check out the unique stores in the plaza next to the hotel. This was when the girls decided we needed to kick off the weekend with a toast at a local wine bar they discovered just blocks away.

Nancy and I look at each other. There was no day drinking on our Mom's watch, but it's a new day and a new era, so we went with it.

The Irish Coffes were next, then lunch, and finally, onto the mall for a bit of shopping. I gave my girls a budget and a challenge. Find something for themselves, their husbands, and their children, if they have any. Hours later, laden with packages, we headed home so we could freshen up and walk to a restaurant my Dad used to take us to almost twenty years ago.

Mom used to allow my Dad one night with us on these trips. He'd take us to dinner, stay the night, load all the packages in his truck the next morning, and head home.

The restaurant is called Stickmens. It was a tiny place not five hundred feet from our hotel, right on the water, with a boating dock so residents on the lake could boat to dinner. It had a fancy menu, fine wines, and delectable appetizers. We couldn't wait to treat them to the same experience.

Bahaha.

It was not the same.

Obviously, it had changed ownership. It's now Stickmen's Brewing Company, and they serve bar food, a basic fare of sandwiches, burgers, and fries. The interior is stark, with only a few tables, but it was clean, and the food was good, just not the same.

At least Julie wasn't hangry.

Somehow, Tammy found a recording of a voicemail from her deceased Dad, and we all cried right there at the table, using their thin napkins to blow our noses. Why are we all filled with such poignant emotions?

Seriously, I've felt the presence of Mom, Dad, and David all weekend. It's as if they are right here, fully participating in all the shenanigans, but without a body. It was indeed spirited.

We watched Christmas movies in bed until we couldn't keep our eyes open. Julie and Kelley rose early and did a seven-mile run around the lake. Tammy and Nancy did the Starbucks run and I was delighted to be served a coffee while still in bed.

Today, we treated the girls to high tea and then discovered a new shopping district on the other side of town. Bridgeport, Tammy found it on her phone. What the hell would we do without those things? It was pouring rain, so we ran into the first restaurant we came across to wait out the storm. After a few appetizers, we hit the stores.

We're meeting an old friend for dinner at the Owega Grill tonight. Sheila Thomason, now Robey, grew up in the house next to Nancy and me on Flamingo Drive (we have stories, but that's another blog) and later relocated to Portland with her husband to be near their daughter, Sarah. We haven't seen each other in years and it was wonderful to catch up and share a meal together.

And guess what? We haven't changed one damn bit!

Leaving the lake was hard for Nancy and me. We likely won't be back, and if we ever do return, we now know it won't be the same.

As parents, we tend to hold our children above the swirling waters of life to keep them safe, but often, that means they'll never know what we encountered or the way in which we encountered it. I adapted that from Mitch Albom, but I think my usage is better!

I know they enjoyed this time together, but they have no ties to this lake or our mission to secure presents for Mom, but someday, this, too, will become a cherished memory for them. Well, one can always hope.

I was thinking about how difficult it is to let go of our children, probably as difficult as it is to let go of our beloved memories. The children know this, so it is up to them to move on, move away, and make their own lives. This is how we raised them, and as Phyllis Diller says, we're not empty nesters. We're bird launchers.

I don't think our children realize where their stories come from until much later in life because their stories are stacked on top of our stories, like those stone cairns you see along a path to remind people they are going the right way. Our stories are actually navigational devices that we stack up in our vast memory so we don't get lost.

We just added to the stack.