Reunited, Part 2: People, Places and Pizza
Lord, have I had a hard time writing about my recent trip home.
I'm not sure why. I guess I figured I would have alot to say after it was all over. Not really the case. Serves me right for having such high expectations. We all know what happens when u assume (ass-u-me) things, right?
I mean, there were definitely highlights. The people, for one. I love that my best friends from school (high school and college both included here) are still so important to me. Sure, we have Facebook and all that, and so it is infinitely easier to keep in touch regularly with so many people. But nothing replaces the face to face contact. Nothing. It does the heart good to see a smile, share a laugh with (not an lol, but the real thing), and to look into the eyes of some of the most important people I have known to this point in my existence. I hope that any of you reading this who fall into that category know exactly who you are, and how grateful I am to have you in my life....still. I am always working on ways to make it more obvious across the miles. Thank you for staying with me, growing with me, accepting me, and knowing me, the real me.
Then there were the places. My hometown, Lewiston NY. I used to joke that nothing ever changes back there, as if it were the land-that-time-forgot. This time around, I found that not to be so true after all. It revealed itself as a still-charming, quaint village (with a relatively tiny population of 1700, it qualifies) that like those of us celebrating 20 years graduated from high school, also seems to have grown up through the years. New shops, new bars, and even some new construction was all evident as I strolled down its main drag, Center Street.
Of course, this being Lewiston, many of the old places that were around so long ago were still up and running, including DiCamillo's bakery (home of the freshest, crustiest Italian bread this carb-lover has ever known), Hibbard's frozen custard (still creamy and delicious, and still deliverd through those nostalgic walk-up windows) and Apple Granny (the local restaurant-that-time-forgot, still serving up the best fish fry in town inside of its powder-blue-sided storefront).
Now for the post-mortem of the trip: RIP the old McDonald's which was housed in an old historic building. How old was it? Well, it was considered a landmark, and the only way to house a functional drive-thru in it was to place the pickup window on the passenger's side. Once I was old enough to work, I spent the better part of my teenage years inside that odd, historic (and possibly haunted) Mickey D's, perfecting a strategy to maneuver a long-handled church donation basket through passenger-side windows to get piping hot grease to my fellow Lewistonians.
Don't laugh. That took more talent than you would think.
And how about Niagara Falls? A mere ten minute drive away from my hometown, it felt more like ten hours when I lived there. As such I never got to play tourist (or maybe I never cared to, who knows). This time around, I did. Yes, I took the famous Maid of the Mist boat into the falls, where I stood in wonder at the majestic beauty of it all. Yes, I did the Cave of the Winds, where a spot on the "Hurricane Deck" a whole ten feet away from the falls got me refreshingly, wonderfully soaked by the falling water and spray.
No, I cannot believe it took me 38 years to do these things. Or better yet, that it took so long for me to even want to do them.
And then there were the meals. Does anyone not eat well back in this part of the world?
I had mom's home cooking, simply referred to as the best Italian spaghetti sauce known to man. I had chicken wings. I had lots of bread. LOTS. I had loganberry drink, which strangely enough is confined only to this area of the world, and can best be described as a berry-flavored Kool-Aid on sugary steroids. And I even got Trusello's Pizza, which reopened on Center Street after a nearly 20-year hiatus, just in time for my visit home.
I must tell you, this is no ordinary pizza. No sir. This was the pizza from my childhood. It is as simple as can be--doughy squares drenched in tomato sauce, oil and oregano, no cheese--yet when it is done "right", there is nothing else like it. The sauce and oil wind up dripping down your hand and arm, while leaving a red "got milk?" mustache on your lip. I had this pizza twice while there. One time it was merely good. Another time, I swore I was about twelve years old again. It wasn't exactly as I remembered, but it was damn close.
Come to think of it, that pizza typified so much of what I experienced during those six days back in the land-that-time-forgot. Nothing was exactly as I remembered. But then, I am not who I remembered. At my reunion, there was a huge hanging banner which had a picture superimposed on it, likely taken at our senior year pep rally. I stood there, almost in shock as my eyes darted back and forth, taking it all in while simultaneously recalling what it felt like to be in that picture, at that time in my life. Whoa. Twenty long years had passed, yet in hindsight, it felt like the blink of an eye.
What a trip!
I started to (once again) see things unfolding much like a book in progress. You know, with each important period as sort of a chapter in the epic saga of my life. That high school chapter was important. The people I shared it with were important. But that chapter has already been written. Perhaps that is why I felt a melancholy upon returning to life as I know it in Hawaii. The past cannot be changed. There is no sense in getting wrapped up in it. It has a place in my history, the same as all of the other chapters of my life (childhood, college, post-college, etc). Each one is truly important only in that it got me to where I am today. All I can do now is just try to accept it, all of it, and be grateful that it led me to this point.
So here I am. Back at square one. Writing a new chapter. Doing it as I am, now. There is nothing more important than that. Many of the names, faces, and places from earlier chapters will make their way into this current one. Some won't. And none of it is likely to mean a hill of beans at the next 20-year reunion. Life will play out as it needs to. And that is part of what makes things so interesting. It's like you really have to pay attention to what is right in front of you in order to get the most out of it. Really, what other options do we have? The permanent ink has already dried from those earlier writings. I would much rather learn from them, and concentrate on using some fresh ink for the new stories that await. So much more productive, don't you think?
Hmm. I guess I had more to say than I thought. Lest I forget, there is one more thing. I would like to share something from the latest chapter of my life. For whatever reason, it is my favorite Hawaiian saying. Has been since I first heard it. And it feels completely applicable at this moment.
It is this: A hui hou. Meaning, until we meet again.
Or more accurately, given the speed of life: until we blink our eyes again.
I'm not sure why. I guess I figured I would have alot to say after it was all over. Not really the case. Serves me right for having such high expectations. We all know what happens when u assume (ass-u-me) things, right?
I mean, there were definitely highlights. The people, for one. I love that my best friends from school (high school and college both included here) are still so important to me. Sure, we have Facebook and all that, and so it is infinitely easier to keep in touch regularly with so many people. But nothing replaces the face to face contact. Nothing. It does the heart good to see a smile, share a laugh with (not an lol, but the real thing), and to look into the eyes of some of the most important people I have known to this point in my existence. I hope that any of you reading this who fall into that category know exactly who you are, and how grateful I am to have you in my life....still. I am always working on ways to make it more obvious across the miles. Thank you for staying with me, growing with me, accepting me, and knowing me, the real me.
Then there were the places. My hometown, Lewiston NY. I used to joke that nothing ever changes back there, as if it were the land-that-time-forgot. This time around, I found that not to be so true after all. It revealed itself as a still-charming, quaint village (with a relatively tiny population of 1700, it qualifies) that like those of us celebrating 20 years graduated from high school, also seems to have grown up through the years. New shops, new bars, and even some new construction was all evident as I strolled down its main drag, Center Street.
Of course, this being Lewiston, many of the old places that were around so long ago were still up and running, including DiCamillo's bakery (home of the freshest, crustiest Italian bread this carb-lover has ever known), Hibbard's frozen custard (still creamy and delicious, and still deliverd through those nostalgic walk-up windows) and Apple Granny (the local restaurant-that-time-forgot, still serving up the best fish fry in town inside of its powder-blue-sided storefront).
Now for the post-mortem of the trip: RIP the old McDonald's which was housed in an old historic building. How old was it? Well, it was considered a landmark, and the only way to house a functional drive-thru in it was to place the pickup window on the passenger's side. Once I was old enough to work, I spent the better part of my teenage years inside that odd, historic (and possibly haunted) Mickey D's, perfecting a strategy to maneuver a long-handled church donation basket through passenger-side windows to get piping hot grease to my fellow Lewistonians.
Don't laugh. That took more talent than you would think.
And how about Niagara Falls? A mere ten minute drive away from my hometown, it felt more like ten hours when I lived there. As such I never got to play tourist (or maybe I never cared to, who knows). This time around, I did. Yes, I took the famous Maid of the Mist boat into the falls, where I stood in wonder at the majestic beauty of it all. Yes, I did the Cave of the Winds, where a spot on the "Hurricane Deck" a whole ten feet away from the falls got me refreshingly, wonderfully soaked by the falling water and spray.
No, I cannot believe it took me 38 years to do these things. Or better yet, that it took so long for me to even want to do them.
And then there were the meals. Does anyone not eat well back in this part of the world?
I had mom's home cooking, simply referred to as the best Italian spaghetti sauce known to man. I had chicken wings. I had lots of bread. LOTS. I had loganberry drink, which strangely enough is confined only to this area of the world, and can best be described as a berry-flavored Kool-Aid on sugary steroids. And I even got Trusello's Pizza, which reopened on Center Street after a nearly 20-year hiatus, just in time for my visit home.
I must tell you, this is no ordinary pizza. No sir. This was the pizza from my childhood. It is as simple as can be--doughy squares drenched in tomato sauce, oil and oregano, no cheese--yet when it is done "right", there is nothing else like it. The sauce and oil wind up dripping down your hand and arm, while leaving a red "got milk?" mustache on your lip. I had this pizza twice while there. One time it was merely good. Another time, I swore I was about twelve years old again. It wasn't exactly as I remembered, but it was damn close.
Come to think of it, that pizza typified so much of what I experienced during those six days back in the land-that-time-forgot. Nothing was exactly as I remembered. But then, I am not who I remembered. At my reunion, there was a huge hanging banner which had a picture superimposed on it, likely taken at our senior year pep rally. I stood there, almost in shock as my eyes darted back and forth, taking it all in while simultaneously recalling what it felt like to be in that picture, at that time in my life. Whoa. Twenty long years had passed, yet in hindsight, it felt like the blink of an eye.
What a trip!
I started to (once again) see things unfolding much like a book in progress. You know, with each important period as sort of a chapter in the epic saga of my life. That high school chapter was important. The people I shared it with were important. But that chapter has already been written. Perhaps that is why I felt a melancholy upon returning to life as I know it in Hawaii. The past cannot be changed. There is no sense in getting wrapped up in it. It has a place in my history, the same as all of the other chapters of my life (childhood, college, post-college, etc). Each one is truly important only in that it got me to where I am today. All I can do now is just try to accept it, all of it, and be grateful that it led me to this point.
So here I am. Back at square one. Writing a new chapter. Doing it as I am, now. There is nothing more important than that. Many of the names, faces, and places from earlier chapters will make their way into this current one. Some won't. And none of it is likely to mean a hill of beans at the next 20-year reunion. Life will play out as it needs to. And that is part of what makes things so interesting. It's like you really have to pay attention to what is right in front of you in order to get the most out of it. Really, what other options do we have? The permanent ink has already dried from those earlier writings. I would much rather learn from them, and concentrate on using some fresh ink for the new stories that await. So much more productive, don't you think?
Hmm. I guess I had more to say than I thought. Lest I forget, there is one more thing. I would like to share something from the latest chapter of my life. For whatever reason, it is my favorite Hawaiian saying. Has been since I first heard it. And it feels completely applicable at this moment.
It is this: A hui hou. Meaning, until we meet again.
Or more accurately, given the speed of life: until we blink our eyes again.
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