Saint Louis Patina

A few months ago, I asked local bloggers for St. Louis urban legends and interesting factoids. I didn't learn too much then, but have recently stumbled upon a very cool blog devoted to all kinds of interesting St. Louis architectural lessons.

Paul and I enjoy driving around, just seeing where stuff goes. It's a little less mysterious now, with the GPS, but it can still be very fun. Tonight we discovered a long series of off-the-beaten-path neighborhoods only a couple of miles from our house whose existence we had never suspected.

While we were driving around back there we found a road called "Lemp" and some buildings and houses that looked really old (mixed in with newer, obviously expensive houses, because this is Kirkwood, after all).

When I got home, Google helped me find a lot of interesting information about the Lemp family's Kirkwood-area "rural escapes" from the early 20th century. Locals will know all about the Lemp family, with their downtown mansion connected to their brewery by tunnels and caves, as well as their curses and ghosts.

But the estates overlooking the Meramec were news to me: Cragwold and Alswel.

The drive was fun, the girls were great, and the internet research was engaging. But the crown jewel of my sleuthfest was this site: Saint Louis Patina, which is exactly what I was looking for back in February.

I will be back, and often!

I've Always Loved Playground Rhymes

In honor of National Poetry Month:

Fight

Can do
Won’t do
will do too.
I want
you want
to see this through.
I see--you and me
stuck here in this glue.
We’ll be
you and me
‘til this lie is true.

© 1997

StL Bloggers Carnival #9

The theme for the March blog carnival was spring break memories. And it seems like maybe Anna Quindlen is in the minority with her assumption that all college kids go away for wild and crazy beach vacations without their parents every spring. Or, at least, her kids' experiences would be the minority among those who responded to this edition of the StL Bloggers carnival!

First up, in Spring Break Memories, Nobody from Nobody's Puzzles tells us how Nobody didn't go wild in Florida as a college kid on spring break. Nobody does, however, offer us a little puzzle to solve. I'm pretty sure that the answer is that nobody could possibly have fun at Circus Circus. (Just kidding. That's not my real answer. Although I might still be right about Circus Circus.)

Next up, Kristi from Adventures in Motherhood sounds like she really needs a fun spring break adventure in My Top 10 Favorite Spring Break Vacations.

And, finally, Sarahlynn from Yeah, But Houdini Didn't Have These Hips warns about possible unintended consequences from spring break actions. Beware! And This Year, I Was Sick and It Rained.

I look forward to reading you all in April, when I will not be hosting!

The host of the next carnival is . . .
Nobody!
from Nobody's Puzzles
(who had a really great theme suggestion)

And This Year, I Was Sick and it Rained

"Spring Break" is one of those concepts that seemed foreign to me until fairly recently. As a kid, we didn't really travel much over spring break. Our big family vacations - and we took big family driving vacations every year - were usually in the summer and after Christmas.

Starting my sophomore year of high school, spring breaks were for researching colleges. This project also took up part of summer vacations and much of the floor of my bedroom. By the time I'd finally chosen a college and moved my Fisk guides to a communal bookshelf in the upstairs hallway, I had 3 huge black garbage bags of college brochures and mailings to, er, recycle. (I threw them away. While wearing my Earth Day t-shirt, probably.)

In college - oops! wrong choice despite all that research - after using my work study money (lifeguarding, baby! it sure beat food service) for textbooks and my phone bills, I usually went home for spring break. My parents sure as heck weren't going to give me money to go off on vacation with my friends, and they weren't too keen on me accepting gifts of large value (like trips) from friends or boyfriends, either.

So "spring break" was really a "break" for me, not so much fodder for future embarrassing anecdotes involving toplessness and beaches.

Except, sort of, my junior year. My boyfriend of nearly 3 years was going to Cancun with his family, where they had a very nice condo timeshare here. Inexplicably, my parents allowed me to go along. Perhaps because I was 21?

Anyway, it was an eye-opening experience for me. For one thing, the whole trip was very much a lap-of-luxury experience. Aside from the sumptuous accommodations, we sometimes had bars or restaurants all to ourselves, lots of personal attention from waitstaff, alcohol alcohol alcohol like I'd never seen it flow before, my boyfriend's family like I'd never seen them before, and never any obvious concern about what the cost of any of this might be (financial or otherwise).

In the end, this trip did help me decide what I did not want my future real life to be like, though I do still have a bit of a taste for luxury.

And a mere 8 months later, the string bikini I bought my first morning in Mexico, after realizing that my tank-style racing suits were just not going to cut it in Cancun, helped me attract the notice of my now-husband. So the moral is: spring break travel will have unforeseeable consequences for your future. Throw caution to the wind, judiciously.

St. Louis Blog Carnival #9: Spring Break Memories

StL Bloggers Carnivals #8 and #9

I Do Love To Host . . .

StL Bloggers Carnival #8

St. Louis is such an old city, and so Catholic, I was sure that there had to be lots of old ghost stories and interesting quirks about the place. I'm not necessarily talking about Cities of the Underworld, but I was thinking, maybe, those tunnels under the park.

Or, at least, the story of Lemp Mansion or that time time the devil came to St. Louis.

So, as host of the February StlBloggers Carnival, I issued this challenge: I want to learn more about my adopted home town. I've lived in St. Louis since 1993, but I still don't know very many of its unique urban legends. Growing up, all the kids in the towns where I lived knew where an unlikely grisly murder had taken place, the source of paranormal events, that one railroad bridge where everything looks exactly the same to either side, and so forth. St. Louis must have *lots* of stories like these!

Perhaps, however, we all live in a land of brand-spanking-new strip malls, and no interesting bits of unique St. Louis quirk remain.

Except, of course, for the one that John at TransylvanianDutch tells us about in The Book House: Say Hello to Valerie.

So I'll try again with March!

StL Bloggers Carnival #9

The Carnival Rules:

Interested STL Bloggers should write a new post on the stated theme by the specified deadline. They should then email the host at the provided email address with the following information:

1) Name of Blogger
2) Permalink URL of blog post
3) Title of Blog Post
4) URL of Blog
5) Title of Blog
6) Would you be interested in volunteering to be the next host? Yes/No
6a) If Yes – what would your theme be?

The host will then take all the submissions that meet the simple requirements of addressing the specified theme, and having been posted between the announcement and the deadline – and link to them from one post, with some annotative comments for each. This post shall be posted at StlBloggers.com, and if the host wishes, at their own blog. Participants should expect a delay of a few days between the deadline and this post.

The host will also choose the next host from the volunteers in any fashion they desire.

STLBloggers Blog Carnival #9
Host: Sarahlynn from Yeah, but Houdini Didn't Have These Hips
Contact: ms_sarahlynn [at] yahoo [dot] com
Deadline: March 31st at midnight. Email should be dated in the month of March
Theme: Spring Break Memories

Local Tragedy

We chose our little community very carefully. It's not without its problems, but it's a charming little place. Kirkwood is an old, beautiful community, established in 1853. There's a mixture of large houses and small in mixed neighborhoods, lots of homes with great character, tall shade trees, a thriving downtown area with shops and restaurants, and a distinct small town community feel in this quaint enclave in the St. Louis metro area.

But no place is perfect. There's one particular area of Kirkwood, Meacham Park, which is a traditionally African American community, and there have been tensions between residents of that area and city officials, for various reasons, some (in my opinion) quite valid.

One neighborhood resident grew particularly enraged about what he perceived as his ill treatment by the city council. (A federal judge disagreed with his claims.) After acting out at several meetings, he attended a council meeting tonight (perhaps in response to that judge's ruling) and made a final stand.

As the mayor began his opening remarks after the pledge of allegiance, this man shot and killed a police officer outside city hall. He went inside to where the meeting was taking place, and shot and killed another police officer, then opened fire on council members and city officials. 30 people were in attendance at the meeting, including a reporter for the St. Louis Post Dispatch, so news of what happened got out quickly.

He shot seven people, killing five, before being killed by police. The two survivors are a local reporter, possibly hit in the hand by a ricochet, and the mayor, who is in critical condition at a local hospital.

Kirkwood authorities have decided not to release the names of the deceased tonight, to give them time to notify families, though our local Fox affiliate television station has irresponsibly shown pictures of those killed, not saying so explicitly, but drawing the obvious inference. (As we know, only two who were shot survived, X and Y, and we also know that these three people were also shot, so . . . )

It's horrifying that this happened so close to home, in our safe community. It's almost unbearably tragic to think of the families touched directly by this tragedy. It is also more personal than is comfortable. (And what distance would ever be comfortable, I wonder?) I read unofficial minutes from council meetings and subcommittee meetings, which helps me feel like I know some of these people more personally than I do. And all reports of what happened tonight mentioned the name of the Kirkwood Public Works Director Ken Yost as one of the shot. Ken is far more than just a name to me.

Ken was the webmaster for our church, Kirkwood First Presbyterian. He ran the amazing local recycling center and was an environmental activist. His wife is a church staff member, in charge of new members and mission work. She was one of the first people we got to know in our congregation when we joined more than 8 years ago, and they were both at our wedding. They are incredible people who walk the walk, and my heart is so full of pain for Ken's wife and son.

I feel a tendency to ramble on and on, a lack of perspective, and an inability to edit my thoughts properly into a cohesive message.

Someone I knew and respected a great deal was killed tonight. It's horrible. My prayers are with the families of all those killed and injured tonight. I feel powerless, and my prayers feel insufficient. I want to be actively doing something, anything to help. Unfortunately, there's little to be done now.

Bucket List

No, not the movie, the St. Louis Bloggers January Carnival. My recent not-cancer freak-out threw this one into bold relief for me:

Sarahlynn's To Do Before I Die List:
1) Watch my kids grown up healthy and happy.
The End.

Since I'm trending a bit contrary, my other would-like-tos include:

• Have my whole house organized, top to bottom, with no Monica Closet. Not even a Monica Drawer. Just once, just for a few minutes, just to see what it feels like.
• Publish a good book, to good reviews and sales.
• Find a miracle cure for my feet so that I can rollerblade again.
• While I'm at it, find a miracle cure for cancer. And world hunger. And so forth.
• Have sex with Taye Diggs and his identical twin brother.

What? What?!

OK, well, I don't like New Year's Resolutions and I don't like Bucket Lists, so I don't play nicely with either. My mind just doesn't naturally think in superlatives like, what's my favorite book/movie/song/color? What do I most want to do before I die?

There's a lot of stuff I want to do before I die. There's a lot of stuff I want to do before Easter. There's a lot of stuff I want to do before bed tonight.

But last Sunday, I did "ask" my Sunday School class make some sort of New Year's Resolutions, because the lesson suggested that we do so.

We Believe that our lives are pieces of God's plan. What can we do in our immediate futures to help imagine our eternal lives in God's presence?

Ah, this exercise I like better. It's far less morbid!

• I can practice saying, "Yes."
  
• And I can stop waiting for the question, looking instead for opportunities to volunteer in ways that make a significant contribution without inspiring me to feel resentful or overwhelmed.
  
• I can continue the practice I began working so hard on last year, involving compassion and understanding.

On these, I've already begun. About these, I already feel hopeful.

And, in the end, I think they're more important and valuable both to me and to others than worrying about when I'll die, or where I'll travel, or even the state of my half-organized basement storage closet.

Still Giving Thanks

I normally don't post on Friday nights, especially not after writing 2000 words, and after staying up past 2:00 am almost every night for a month. Have I mentioned that my girls get up early and the baby, while great at going to sleep at night, doesn't nap reliably during the day? And we have an extra tonight, though she's been no trouble at all.

A friend just defended his dissertation today, earning his PhD in astro physics (yes, seriously) so we offered to keep their daughter tonight so that he and his wife can have a night off together.

We were all at Blueberry Hill for dinner, and when we left, Paul was leading Ellie by the hand. Ellie was holding onto 2-year-old T's hand, and I was following along carrying Ada. The early dinner crowd was beginning to transition into a live music bar crowd, and we got lots of stares and comments as we walked out in single file with our three adorable little girls, ages 10 months, 2 years, and 4 years old. It's possible that they could all be ours, but whew! As if the past 4 years haven't been hard enough.

All three girls and Paul are peacefully sleeping now, and I intend to follow in their footsteps very soon.

But first, I want to answer the question for the StLBloggers November Blog Carnival: What are you most thankful for this year?

There are a lot of contenders this year.

In 2007, I gave birth to a wonderful, strong, intelligent, healthy baby girl and have watched her grow into an amazing almost-toddler. What could beat that?

In 2007, I have watched my three year old turn four, and develop by leaps and bounds, especially in her speech. She can run now, and carry on conversations with me that I didn't expect a year ago. And she is potty trained. I don't even ask her if she needs to go very often, anymore. I can't remember her last real accident. Amazing.

In 2007, my family was healthy, and everyone did well professionally. We saw each other frequently, my parents took all of us on an amazing trip to Scotland, and Paul started a great new job.

In 2007, I wrote a novel. My first one ever. And since this is what I want to do with my life, the fact that I'm actually working toward my goal is so exciting that I can barely talk about it.

But the winner this year is something of a dark horse, because it's something that, 18 months ago, I never would have thought to question. At the end of 2007, I am still married. I am even - dare I say it? - happily married.

While my life has grown and changed a lot over the past year, my marriage has grown and changed the most, I think.

And, for that, I am thankful.

Just keep swimming

Last year at this time, my life couldn't have felt much worse. I was in an indescribable amount of pain, though I did try to put it into words.

In some ways, the past year has been the worst of my life. But in other ways, it's been phenomenal. We had a new baby, and have watched Ada grow into the most incredible, wonderful, surprising little girl. We've watched Ellie make some amazing developmental leaps, including potty training! We've refinanced our house down to a 15 year loan, and eliminated all but the necessary debt (fixed mortgage, extremely low-rate minivan loan, and consolidated student loans). We've forged new friendships and taken on new roles in our communities.

We've both adjusted our work lives: Paul to a more family-friendly job and me to staying home full-time and writing more. I've been talking with magazines about some pieces, and I even have published pieces in a couple of actual books. This part is difficult for me, because I am paralyzed by my fear of failure, which often prevents me from submitting and sometimes even keeps me from writing.

Not least, Paul and I have worked very very hard on our relationship, and while we're not perfect, we're in a much better place than I could possibly have imagined. In my wildest dreams and all that.

Here we are, then and now:
Halloween 2006

There are no pictures of me from last October, except for ones in which part of me is captured in a shot of Ellie, but she's adorable enough for all of us.

Halloween 2007

By day we're Mummy, Deady, and two Little Ghouls. By night we're Nemo the clown fish, Crush the baby sea turtle, and two crabs. "Yeah, I saw him, Bluey, but I'm not telling you where he went, and there's no way you're gonna make me."

Way Up High

Apples, apples, way up high
I can reach them if I try
Climb a ladder, hold on tight
Pick an apple, take a bite
Apples, apples, way up high
I can reach them if I try.

This is the very first new song that Ellie learned in preschool and came home singing, expecting me to join in with her. But I couldn't, because I didn't know the song. I sat in on "closing circle" one day last fall and learned the tune, then looked up the lyrics on the internet when we got home, and we've been singing it together - complete with Ellie-led hand gestures - ever since.

It's so wonderful, as she learns things that I haven't been teaching her. And it's so scary, too, not least because I'm often not very good at understanding her yet, though she tries so earnestly to tell me so very many things.

It's scarier still that I'm so much better than others at understanding her, as she increasingly makes her own way in the world. But we're busy celebrating successes here today, and "apples" is one of the words that Ellie can say very clearly indeed.

"Apples" were the theme for the September STLBloggers Carnival.

Significance

Saturday, December 19, 1987: I was in seventh grade, and I was feeling miserable. This didn't seem unusual; it's hard to be 13, in the first year of junior high, and not be miserable. It had been a rough semester so far; for weeks I'd been locked in a secret competition with the most popular girl in my class to see who could go the longest without repeating an outfit. No one knew about this contest, including my competitor, which did give me a slight edge. But she was so good at never repeating an outfit exactly, that I was forced to wear some pretty embarrassing ensembles just to keep up.

On this particular morning, however, I felt unusually uncomfortable, and teary, and awful in a more-than-the-usual-teen-angst way. And I really really had to go to the bathroom. 5 of us shared one upstairs bathroom, and eventually I got my turn.

"Mom!" I called.

I'd gotten my period. This was exciting and all, but mostly I just wanted to die. We were supposed to drive to the new mall that had just been built a mere 20 miles from where I lived. How could I walk around the mall with my family in my new condition?! I went downstairs and lay face down on the floor, trying disappear.

Then things got worse. My father came up to me and patted me on the back, saying, "Congratulations!" I decided to never get up again.

Have I mentioned that I'm the daughter of a minister?

The next morning, at the fellowship hour after church, I was putting in my obligatory face time amongst the throng of faithful Presbyterians, when my mom's best friend spied me from across the room.

"Sarahlynn!" She ran over to me and clasped me in a big hug. "You're a woman now!"

Shockingly, it got even worse from there.

"You know," my mother mused, "you were conceived exactly 14 years ago. December 19, 1973."

Thanks.

The theme for the STLBloggers Blog Carnival this month is "What is/was the most important/significant day of your life?" I decided to follow in my elder daughter's footsteps and get all literal with it.

"Where'd You Go to High School?"

I will never be considered a native St. Louisan, though I've lived here for 14 years, long enough that I have become more like a local than an interloper.

When I was 18, I moved here to go to Washington University and then stuck around afterward. When I graduated from college, my boyfriend was still an undergrad so I looked for a job here. When he graduated, I already had a job so he looked for a job here. Then after we were married (here) we both had jobs here so this is where we bought a house. Now we have children who will indeed be native St. Louisans.

During college, our friends were from all over, and our first exposure to large groups of St. Louis natives came after graduation, with our first jobs. "Where'd you go to school?" was the first question we noticed people asking each other at parties, rather than the more commonly heard elsewhere "What do you do," and "How do you know the bride and groom?" Or, in my family, "Who'd you vote for in the last election?" and "What's your favorite NPR program?"

I didn't use to understand the high school question, but now I do. St. Louis is, more than many other cities, truly a city of neighborhoods, and residents are categorized by which part of the metro area they're from. I could try to explain that, but this does a better job than I ever could. Suffice it to say that if you move here, expect to be confused for about 5 years. Also, pick someone you really like and live near her family, because your neighborhood will become your identity pretty quickly.

St. Louis is also a Catholic city. I understand this much less, not being Catholic myself. Basically, whether or not you went to Catholic school says a lot about you, and there is a hierarchy within the parochial schools, which helps place you as well.

Some people from out of town try to answer accurately when asked where they went to high school. I always say that I'm from away, which stops the line of questioning immediately. No one cares what state I'm from; there's no important frame of reference outside the St. Louis metro area.

Given the importance neighborhood plays in St. Louis living, school district was definitely a part of the consideration when we were house shopping. We're still a little flummoxed. We don't want our children to grow up to be Hoosiers (it's hard for me to accept that this is a pejorative term here, raised by a proud Indiana native as I was). We don't want our children to go to unaccredited schools. We believe in the importance of art and music in the curriculum. But we don't want our kids to grow up surrounded by over-privileged kids, either. There's only so much that occasional community volunteering and church work camps can do to counter-balance a life of being surrounded daily by kids who have so much.

We're still figuring it all out. But at least we have a few years until the kids are in high school.

[This blog post is part of the first St. Louis Blog Carnival, topic: High School.]