Ghost Busters We're Not

 

“You put us in a hotel that is HAUNTED?”

Thirty minutes after booking the room for our overnighter in Sedalia, I discovered that the hotel of my choice, the glorious Hotel Bothwell in downtown Sedalia, had been featured on one of those hauntedhotel shows. Kelly and I decided not to tell the girls, but I wondered if maybe that’s why a small suite at the Bothwell cost no more than a standard room at the Best Western.

 

They found out when their cheerleader friends at the fairgrounds asked where they were sleeping that night. “We can’t stay there, we can’t stay there, we're hungry, we can't stay there” they shouted all the way across town. “Look,” I said in my best now-girls-let’s-be-reasonable voice, “all the so-called paranormal activity only happens on the third floor. There are seven floors, so the chances of us getting a room on the third floor are slim.”

 

Kelly and the girls checked in while I got the rest of our luggage, and I heard familiar screams and nervous laughter as I walked in. Kelly held up our room key, clearly marked 320. “We’re doomed,” one of the girls moaned.

It was a tense ride up the elevator. The girls didn’t notice the fabulous lobby, with the crystal chandelier, the brilliant polished wood and the gleaming brass, the lovely fabrics on the chairs and walls. It was stunning.

 

They jumped at every step, every shadowy doorway, every corner. They balked entering the room, holding each other and screeching. They went to the bathroom with the door open.

It took hours for them to settle down as their imaginations took hold of them. Of course, Kelly and I didn’t help, scratching on their door, turning out lights, making sudden “what’s that” sounds and “buwawhahaaaa” laughs.

 

It was actually a lot of fun, for at least two of us. Apparently the ghosts are accused of stealing small trinkets during the night, so Kelly and I tempted them with her cheer pin. It was still there when we awoke, so perhaps the spirits had the weekend off.

 

Haunted or not, I love these old grand hotels with their aging luxury. They are like scenes from movies, romantic old movies. They are packed with history, and the Bothwell, built in 1927, is no exception. Like all these old places, famous people visited often, including Harry Truman and Scott Joplin. And now, our girls.

 

We are going back again, but next time, sans children. The ghosts will have to decide for themselves. The girls won't be there to scare them off....

And Aubrey Is Their Names

Like me, Aubrey has two middle names. Anne, from her mother, and Everly from, of course, the Everly Brothers. Her last name comes from me, at least until she marries. She knows all of that. What she doesn’t know is how her first name was chosen.

 

Partly, it is from the Bread song, as she thinks, but mostly it comes from this guy. His name is Aubrey, and I really liked his name.

 

 

When I was playing basketball, Aubrey was one of the guys who used to come. He was an excellent and generous basketball player, not afraid to take the shot, but unlike most of the guys, he wasn’t afraid to pass or to set a pick or to play defense. That always made him fun to play with, but mostly I liked him because he was a genuinely nice guy. A nice enough guy that I named a child after him.

Nearly 15 years later, I bumped in to Aubrey the other night at the store. I knew I recognized him, but couldn’t place him. Work somewhere? One of the colleges? Oh, I know. Basketball. I introduced myself, and he remembered right away. He was taken aback when I told him about his namesake, visibly moved. “Well, that is a real honor,” he said.

 

 

 

If he knew my Aubrey, he would know exactly how true that is.

Turns Out Cheer Season And Duck Season Aren't As Similar As One Might Think

 

Libby is in the thick of cheer season, with basketball games at school and regional competitions with her competitive squad nearly every weekend.

You would not believe the people who go to these things. They are all, um, enthusiastic, and involved, and LOUD and there are a LOT of them. They participate, man, and cheer for their cheerleaders.

 

My views on cheerleaders at sporting events are pretty well known, at least among the half dozen people who read this blog, but I’m all for these competitive teams. The girls – mostly girls, there are some boys – are in pretty good shape and do some impressive stunts.

 

For example, look at how high these flyers are. The ugly backdrop makes it hard to see them, but they are way up there.

 

Libby is very good and getting better. I’m proud of her. She doesn’t know it, but with her hair done up for cheer, with the big bows, I think she looks like Julie Newmar.

 

Competitions are long and exhausting for parents, but rewarding. The music is awful. And loud.

 

As Kelly says, “the bigger the cheer bow, the better the cheer mom.”

Oh Brothers! Six Boys, A Dad And One Tired Mother

 

My mom asked that her six sons get together. She didn’t say, no one said, you know, one last time, or before it’s too late. She just asked that we come because she wanted to see us, so we made a plan. Some flew in, some drove in, some already live there, but the six of us spent parts of four days together for the first time in a long time. Someone said it had been eight years, someone said it had been longer, but that’s just the kind of thing some people say.

 

My children were worried that something was wrong with grandpa, and I’m not sure I convinced them otherwise. That thought crossed my mind, too, but actually dad seemed healthier, stronger, more alert than he’s been in years. That’s due to how well my mother takes care of him.

I have a photo from the last time the six of us were together. We look about the same, I guess. There’s just less hair and about 200 pounds more of us. There’s been some divorces and some marriages, some children and some grandchildren. There have been several moves, many career changes, and a lot of ups and downs in all the ways life can change. The one thing that remains, though, the one constant, is that we still make each other laugh.

The highlight of our time together was all the stories. Jeff called them lies, and there was some exaggeration, sure, but mostly it was a lot of “remember that time….” And we do remember the time. We don’t all remember it the same ways, but remember it we do: the time Doodle broke my teeth, the time I stabbed the knife into Gary Jo's foot, the time Jeff cracked Gary Jo upside the head with a baseball bat, the games and fights with neighbors, all the stuff kids do.

 

My brothers still love TV sports, so there was lots of football and hockey and a little golf. I don’t follow sports anymore, and found the broadcasts dull and uninspired, but it was nice just sitting with them. Of course, we watched on big screen TVs with those recorders that let you skip commercials. When we were boys, if the football Cardinals were at home, we had to go outside and physically turn the antennae, pointing it in the general direction of Cape Girardeau. If it was overcast, the reception was poor, but it improved when one of us actually touched the antennae pole. So we took turns standing out there in the cold, so the others could get the snowy images of our favorite team. What a difference.

 

I stayed with my brother Jeff and his new wife, Bridget, who took excellent care of us and fed us well. At Gary Jo’s, he showed us his baseball Cardinals room, stuffed with hundreds and hundreds of St. Louis souvenirs from the past 50 years. His basement is wall-to-wall Beatles stuff, everything you can imagine, from dolls to lunch boxes to pins to posters, again, hundreds and hundreds of really cool and rare things.

 

Doodle is still everyone’s favorite, wherever we went, and if you look at the photos on Facebook, most of the comments are for or about Doodle. I knew I should have learned to tap dance.

We said we would all get together a couple summers from now, and I hope we do.

And Baby Makes Half A Dozen, So Far....

Our daughter Carrie had a healthy little boy this morning, our sixth grandchild, but the first boy born into the family in 30 years. My second child, Brad, has been surrounded by girls for those three decades, but seems to have thrived on it.

As for me, having grown up the second oldest of six brothers, with no sisters, it has been a wonderful adventure having so many daughters and granddaughters, but we are all excited about this baby boy. His name is Nico.

 

Here are some photos I’ve received this week of the other grandchildren, six and counting. Am I lucky or what?

Our little Sadie, just turned 2.

Brianne, Aspen and Callie, three wonderful little girls

Our Lucy, getting so big.