I haven't done that in ages...

Saturday dawned a stunning day, the likes of which we have not seen much of in these parts lately. After sleeping in gloriously late, a habit I will no doubt curse when school starts again, I yawned and stretched and yawned again. Hubby must have been experiencing my same mellow mood because he suggested we pile into the car for a day of garage sales and adventure.

As soon as we could scrape together a few snacks and put on clothes that said "I'm not rich, but my check won't bounce, either," we were out the door to greet the day. I won't take the time to tell you about all about the retired air-force man who sold me a pair of abstract paintings depicting the Hong Kong skyline in the early 1960s, or of his adventures making a family with his German wife and their Chinese-Aboriginal adopted son. Or of the antique shop, going out of business with prices slashed, where the owner asked if I was from Pennsylvania after hearing my "accent." Nor will I tell you much about the quality of the day and the landscape and the houses, which every once in a while, when I get out far enough away from the highway, just transport me to the 1930s, and I fully expect a housewife with bobbed and softly crimped hair to emerge from one of the little white shot-gun houses, wearing a floral cotton dress and kid-leather shoes on her way out to feed the chickens cornmeal so she can fatten them up for frying on another day.

We had one appointment that day...to pick up my brother from the airport. With all the sales we could honestly afford under our belts, and an hour and half to kill, we just meandered down the road awhile until we came to a bowling alley pretty much in the middle of no-where.

My husband must have been in SOME mood, because he actually suggested that we stop and go bowling. On more than one occasion, I have had a strong and nostalgic hankering to go bowling, but he usually flat out refuses. He is not much of a bowler. I on the other hand LOVE it. As I recall, my great-grandfather died at the lanes, but I imagine my affection had less to do with genes and more to do with a down-right hilarious 7th grade gym class.

You see, in our private school, we had a male gym teacher stuck with a class of squirly 7th grade girls, and there was only so much basketball and Nukem (did you ever play that?) that we were gonna play. So with some kind of stroke of genius, he taught us to bowl. First, we had a heavy rubber practice ball and pins which we had to set and reset ourselves over and over again in the gym. Then after a few weeks of practicing the fundamentals, we were taken by ugly, blue church van, to Center Bowl Lanes to play two games before going back to our history, Bible, grammar, and Christian Charm class....but that's a post for another time. I remember giggling a lot. I remember Krista Gregg getting her fingers stuck in the ball and throwing herself headlong down the greasy lane with the giant ball stuck on her hand. And apparently, I learned how to bowl pretty well.

So fast forward bjlsjdfla years, and we walk into a bowling alley that instantly transports me back....same wood paneling. Same orange plastic chairs. Same geriatric computers for score-keeping. Same pinball machines and air-hockey tables. Same squeaky but cute bowling shoes. They put up the bumpers for the kids and we proceeded to have...for lack of a better word...a ball. I threw two strikes in a row to start and finished with a spare. I don't want to brag, but I beat EVERYONE else(Robb) 113 to 87, 66, 63, 52. I hadn't bowled in ages....not since before Mattie was born...or maybe even a lame date with some guy to "Rock and Bowl." It was so fun to do something I was actually good at and to show my kids how it is done. They had fun too and I'd be shocked if that is the last time the Ryerse clan hits the bowling alley. Robb was my hero for making such a fun family memory for us all.