Time moves at the strangest pace. It seems both like only yesterday and a long, long time ago that I arrived in Omaha. In objective terms, I have been here 20 days. On Monday ("today" by the time I publish this little missive), the 21st day, I am driving to Denver via the Nebraska Sandhills.
That is not the most direct route, but it's not very far out of the way, and I appreciate my brother suggesting it. As he said, "when are you going to be driving that way again?" And I remembered my thought from the Mississippi River which probably should be the theme (or at least the subtitle) for this journey: why wouldn't I do it? And so I am.
While in Omaha, I have reconnected with a bunch of friends (one of whom I haven't seen since the Clinton Administration), attended a bridal shower for the first person in the next generation of cousins to be married off, enjoyed Thanksgiving with most of my nuclear family and their families [To be clear: one of my sisters and her family couldn't make it to Omaha for Thanksgiving. Thus my use of the word "most." It wasn't like I enjoyed only part of the family who was present. Just wanted to avoid any misunderstandings], and spent a lot of time with my brother and his family and my parents. I'll be back in Omaha later in the month for Christmas (hence "Part I" of the title).
I had hoped to have a blog post entitled "Adventures in Babysitting" based on two consecutive nights of watching the kids. They are 12, 10 and 6. But the nights were entirely without incident and most pleasant, so there wasn't much to report. It's fun to watch James Bond movies with 12-year-old boys (my nephew had a buddy over one night) because they are completely grossed out by the romance parts. That really was the only item of note at all. And that's a good thing - I leave the true babysitting adventures for my birth sister, Elisabeth Shue.
While here I also picked up a great phrase. Sunday we went to Hot Shops, which is a very cool art facility downtown. One of the artists (a painter named John Boro - credit where credit is due), who looked to be in his 40's or 50's, said that he had only been painting for a few years since he had "caught a second wind in my life." I like that phrase a lot.
I do want to publish a couple of pictures. The first is in my niece's room. She's six, and has the best collection of tutus I've ever seen. Plus a baseball cap. This gives you a good, if incomplete, sense of my niece.
The second is a sign for a bar near the neighborhood I grew up. This is a place I can never enter.
The Interlude Lounge has been on Pacific Street since at least 1969 (when we moved to Omaha). It is how I learned the word ("interlude," not "lounge.") It also gave me a permanent connotation for that word (either "interlude" or "lounge") as something both tawdry and fascinating. I imagined red velvet booths, candles in red glass holders, and patrons with a sort of faded glamour (along the lines of Norma Desmond or Baby Jane - "Mad Men" meets Nighthawks). The bar is about half a mile from my brother's house - in fact, I took this picture as I was walking by it to meet my mom for lunch at a liquor store (true - and not at all weird or pathetic although I will admit it sounds that way.) A couple of years ago I thought about having a drink at the Interlude, but realized that it is highly unlikely the place would live up to my childhood expectations. For instance, any women there would be unlikely to have big sixties hair and slightly soiled white gloves. No one would be smoking (since Omaha has a ban). They might not even have candles on the tables. In fact, it is probably like any bar I've ever been in - which would bitterly disappoint. So I will never go inside the Interlude Lounge in order to protect my one remaining childhood fantasy.
Okay, it's probably not my only remaining childhood fantasy, since I still believe in things like justice and the good guy winning. But it's the only one still clothed in red velvet, and that's the way it is going to stay.
That is not the most direct route, but it's not very far out of the way, and I appreciate my brother suggesting it. As he said, "when are you going to be driving that way again?" And I remembered my thought from the Mississippi River which probably should be the theme (or at least the subtitle) for this journey: why wouldn't I do it? And so I am.
While in Omaha, I have reconnected with a bunch of friends (one of whom I haven't seen since the Clinton Administration), attended a bridal shower for the first person in the next generation of cousins to be married off, enjoyed Thanksgiving with most of my nuclear family and their families [To be clear: one of my sisters and her family couldn't make it to Omaha for Thanksgiving. Thus my use of the word "most." It wasn't like I enjoyed only part of the family who was present. Just wanted to avoid any misunderstandings], and spent a lot of time with my brother and his family and my parents. I'll be back in Omaha later in the month for Christmas (hence "Part I" of the title).
I had hoped to have a blog post entitled "Adventures in Babysitting" based on two consecutive nights of watching the kids. They are 12, 10 and 6. But the nights were entirely without incident and most pleasant, so there wasn't much to report. It's fun to watch James Bond movies with 12-year-old boys (my nephew had a buddy over one night) because they are completely grossed out by the romance parts. That really was the only item of note at all. And that's a good thing - I leave the true babysitting adventures for my birth sister, Elisabeth Shue.
While here I also picked up a great phrase. Sunday we went to Hot Shops, which is a very cool art facility downtown. One of the artists (a painter named John Boro - credit where credit is due), who looked to be in his 40's or 50's, said that he had only been painting for a few years since he had "caught a second wind in my life." I like that phrase a lot.
I do want to publish a couple of pictures. The first is in my niece's room. She's six, and has the best collection of tutus I've ever seen. Plus a baseball cap. This gives you a good, if incomplete, sense of my niece.
The second is a sign for a bar near the neighborhood I grew up. This is a place I can never enter.
The Interlude Lounge has been on Pacific Street since at least 1969 (when we moved to Omaha). It is how I learned the word ("interlude," not "lounge.") It also gave me a permanent connotation for that word (either "interlude" or "lounge") as something both tawdry and fascinating. I imagined red velvet booths, candles in red glass holders, and patrons with a sort of faded glamour (along the lines of Norma Desmond or Baby Jane - "Mad Men" meets Nighthawks). The bar is about half a mile from my brother's house - in fact, I took this picture as I was walking by it to meet my mom for lunch at a liquor store (true - and not at all weird or pathetic although I will admit it sounds that way.) A couple of years ago I thought about having a drink at the Interlude, but realized that it is highly unlikely the place would live up to my childhood expectations. For instance, any women there would be unlikely to have big sixties hair and slightly soiled white gloves. No one would be smoking (since Omaha has a ban). They might not even have candles on the tables. In fact, it is probably like any bar I've ever been in - which would bitterly disappoint. So I will never go inside the Interlude Lounge in order to protect my one remaining childhood fantasy.
Okay, it's probably not my only remaining childhood fantasy, since I still believe in things like justice and the good guy winning. But it's the only one still clothed in red velvet, and that's the way it is going to stay.
. . . It is an excellent policy to try to preserve some childhood memories and not have them dashed by the imminent domain of reality.
ReplyDeleteUmm, I hope I won't ruin your fantasy by saying the last time I was inside the Interlude (where my dad and his colleagues used to hang back in the day), it looked very much as you describe above. Tawdry, velvety, red... All of it.
ReplyDelete