The Van Brunt clan mobilized in St. Louis this past week for a family reunion. It was a great trip filled with appropriate balances of meeting cousins I have never met before, good times, and stress. (sadly, no Nelly sightings) Over the 5 day period, I had the opportunity to observe a few things about myself that I feel compelled to share now:
1. I am not an easy flier. I absolutely love to travel, so this is an unfortunate discovery. I used to LOVE to fly, actually preferring connecting flights over direct so that I could get double the take off/landing thrill. I think I can trace the genesis of my phobia to a Ryanair flight from Barcelona to France, where the turbulence spilled my drink, caused a few mid-flight screams to burst out about the cabin, and induced a couple passengers to kiss the ground once we finally smacked back down to the tarmac. I have gone up and down with my extremes of fear (which arises from a just such a source) depending on the flight, but now it appears I have digressed into frantically grabbing an obliging arm when we begin to bounce. (My mom, I am told, does the same. I was filled with mixed emotions upon hearing this news.) My mind goes in all sorts of directions—At certain points, I am even ready for the appearance of Snakes on the motha ‘effing Plane. This is a disturbing realization, and vow to seek help. And please don’t tell me the whole “just imagine the bumps are the bumps on a road” bit. Air is not a road. I can’t walk on it.
2. The reliance on the shiny world of iphones was in full force for our maps/directions throughout the trip. Technology has given us so much, seemingly fool-proofed the methods of getting one from A to B, but somehow that could not keep the VB caravan from flipping numerous U’s at terrifying intersections. Suffice to say: Stubbornness—she get it from her Daddy.
3. My Grandma Chick is/was a peach. Years ago it would be hard to imagine a more tender side of the red-headed lady who raised 8 kids (7 boys!) and struck terror into my heart as a child. Yes, the woman who was constantly chiding me to “brush your hair!” “sit like a lady!” “don’t drink your water so fast!” just could not understand that as I child I was a boy who liked to gulp down water and spill it down my front. It could be that I have changed (am no longer ragged boy child) or perhaps the both of us, but I genuinely enjoy my Grandma Chick. I saw several pictures of the Irish Italian Gloria Chickey with glossy black hair in a cute two-piece get up playfully swimming with my grandpa Rut in the Ozarks while they were “courting.” She has achieved so much, traveled all over the world, still eats steak, encourages red wine for health, and can swing a golf club with the best of them.
4. I assume the countenance of a monster when low blood sugar hits.
5. I have seen the Promise Land in the form of a world class manicured croquet course, but was unable to taste of its fruits. This is going to take a while for me to get over.
6. Going down a 10 story slide when you are 5’9 is a slow, painful experience.
7. Being modest about ones athletic abilities is surely always a lie. I donned the White’s necessary to play tennis at G Chick’s club, being very clear about my tennis skills, “I am not very good. I have never really had a lesson.” Family members responded, “Oh! That’s fine. I have not played in ages!” Only to be pelted by spicy mustard-style serves minutes later.
8. I have a huge thing for red brick houses. I caught myself about every two minutes envisioning/practically tasting the lemonade I would be sipping on the porch of my would-be absolutely stunning house. In retrospect, I see no impediment to me actually doing so. I should have just supplied my own glass and set up camp.
9. I made a pit stop to Schnucks at 11:30 p.m on a friday night with my parents. Our purchases? A rotissere chicken and grapes. It's really not what you think.
10. I love love my family. And things have gotten so much easier since the days of loading up our van and using a spray bottle in lieu of AC.
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