Fun Down Under

Brian and I planned to watch the OSU bowl game at my favorite local brewery last night. My folks came over to watch Erik, and we headed downtown through a chilly evening with snow intermittently spitting from the sky. We reached the popular hotel and pub, a quaint compound of buildings that was once our town's Catholic grade school, and headed for the building in which there is a giant movie screen, a fleet of comfortable, chunky living room furniture, and a full menu to enjoy. Unfortunately, the place was packed. After one tour around the large room, we saw that the mismatched armchairs and loveseats that did not contain football fans were draped with coats and scarves, indicating they were already occupied, so we left.

We drove through the crowded holiday mess downtown and hit the parkway before deciding to choose between one of two places: An unpopular Mexican restaurant lounge where we could easily commandeer the television remote or the Outback Steakhouse, a crowded choice on a Friday night but a place that houses a gigantic bar and at least two televisions. Going home was NOT an option. We drove to the Outback and found fairly comfy bar stools (I reminded myself that I am much less comfortable actually attending a game and having to sit on cement bleachers) and ordered cocktails, lobster/crab cakes, and grilled shrimp. The people watching was simply outstanding. I found myself more enthusiastic about that than the actual game. Across the bar sat three men in strange, flat-brimmed hats, looking like the Three Amigos. One gentleman ordered a Coors Light with a strange hillbilly twang that would have made Garth Brooks proud. Brian and I decided we found ourselves confused by their attire. I commented that the flat brim of each hat looked quite aerodynamic, and I made a soft whooshing sound when one passed by on his way to the restroom. A petite thing with a rounded bubble of blond hair sat on the stool to my right and occasionally sent items from her plate back to the kitchen. Since I am not normally much for a slab of bloody meat, and the overenthusiastic jumble of spices the restaurant rolls their food in tends to cause heart palpitations and night sweats in me, I very wisely chose the grilled chicken and vegetables. Brian chose steak, a grainy, bloody plank of fat-rimmed beef accompanied by some admittedly tasty french fries. We ate our dinners bathed in the bright light of neon kangaroos.

I thought a lot about the fact that most Americans, including myself, are horribly ignorant about other countries and the people who live in them. I also thought about how sad it was that the place innocently tends to nurture the assumption that Australians are all unusually friendly country folk who drink Fosters all day, talk funny, raise cows, and throw boomerangs in their spare time. Ironically, most of the food offered at The Outback is Creole/American, anyway, with little to no Australian influence that I could detect. I have learned much about the world in the last three years by communicating with many people in different countries. I now know for a fact that there are many people in Australia who have children who look an awful lot like my own son. I also know that these families have the same joys and heartbreak I do. They are some of the nicest people I have ever met, and they are a lot like me, no matter where they might live. Amazingly, I felt a little homesick for the people and places I have never seen.

I have learned that Williams syndrome is everywhere. Thankfully, so is Fosters. :)

We watched OSU fight its way to victory in a less than attractive manner, and in the fourth quarter we ordered coffee and a monstrous chocolate sundae with two spoons. The family dinner crowd was replaced by younger patrons, mostly in pairs, and we soon gathered our things and drove home, where a very excited boy bounced up and down on his mattress in his room and giggled, content as could be.

Tailgating

I went to see the preacher
To teach me how to pray
He looked at me and smiled
Then the preacher turned away
He said if you want to tell him something
You ain't gotta fold your hands
Say it with your heart
Your soul and believe it
And I'd say amen

-- "Bang a Drum" Bon Jovi


I have no idea where to start with this post, so I will just start typing and see what happens.

Saturday Brian and I drove to Corvallis for the Oregon State/Idaho State football game. We dropped Erik off at my parents' house before we left town. We found a nice parking spot in our usual lot next to an emerald-green park and unloaded our little barbecue. The meat had marinated in a cooler on the drive, and we cooked up juicy slabs of chicken and steak. We were soon joined by Brian's friends from work and their friends in the spot next to us. When it was time to go to the game, we walked to the stadium and hit the bookstore on the way to purchase some OSU gear. I was initially very concerned because the afternoon started out very cloudy and cold, but the sun soon emerged and I didn't end up getting frostbite after all.

The game was not the most exciting match I have ever witnessed, but I enjoyed it, anyway. I admit that the most entertaining part of the whole experience was the group of bear-sized gentlemen in front of us. They enjoyed an impressive array of snacks and smokeless tobacco and continuously spat at their feet into a brown reservoir of Copenhagen under a layer of floating sunflower seed husks. One of the men in their party, whom I named "Mr. Random-Man," shouted insults at whomever was in front of us on the other side of the retaining wall. Sometimes it was a player practicing kicking a football into a netted cage. Sometimes it was the crowd control monitor. Sometimes it was the cheerleaders. As the game progressed, his comments seemed to become more random and more frequent. I wondered what the cup they passed around contained. He also freely exchanged the name of Pocatello, Idaho for "Poke-A-Fella," much to the delight of the visiting team. Another man in this party, who was apparently trying to look tough in his oversized novelty football jersey, took off his hat and revealed he looked exactly like Mr. Weatherbee, the principal of Riverside High School, from behind. The young man of skinnier stature in the group had lips that peeled back to reveal a wall of pink gums and tobacco-yellow teeth when he smiled.

Once the game had finished and Idaho State was thoroughly beaten, we walked back to the truck and began a drive down dark highways in bright rivers of horrendous traffic to our favorite casino. When we arrived, we were easily spotted in our orange Oregon State gear and were greeted by people who wanted to know the final score. After freshening up in our room, we hit the casino floor. Brian hit the craps tables, and I hopped from slot machine to slot machine. After a dinner of fried food (oh, how I miss fried food) at the cafe at nearly 1 a.m., we hit the sack. In the morning, we started all over again, and I walked out $150 richer.

Sunday was my father's birthday, and we stayed for dinner at my parents' house when we made it back to town. It was good to see Erik, and Brian and I agreed he looked bigger somehow than the last time we saw him.

I was in Erik's way yesterday, and he said, "Excuse, mommy" as he went past. His language is evolving now at light speed. Tantrums are becoming more frequent, which scares me. I can't determine what is normal and what is Williams, although I suppose it doesn't make much difference. I only wonder because they are sudden and seem completely out of character for Erik. From what I have read, with the correct response, they will diminish with time, and angry outbursts followed by feelings of great remorse are quite common with this syndrome. As I sat in front of a slot machine this weekend, I couldn't stop thinking about him. Even mindless gambling isn't mindless anymore for me, as my brain no longer shuts off. No matter how far we travel or what we do, the brick in my brain that is WS is palpable and something I must carry with me at all times. Some days it feels lighter than others, but it is always present.

It was good to get away, but it was good to come home, too.

I sure missed that little guy.