Vacation as a series of opportunities to eat and other adventures in four or so parts

It wasn't the defining moment of the trip or even really the defining moment of the first of four parts, but it seems telling. Margo and Tom had already been married for some twelve hours. I found myself in the mother of the bride's kitchen the day after the wedding. I wasn't in the wedding party. The bride and groom had already left for a pre-honeymoon nap. We'd said our goodbyes. I was waiting around to catch a plane of my own. Attendants came and went. One had just left for the train station. One was upstairs packing. Fine china and good silver from brunch were stacked in and around the sink.

On the corner of the counter, under a dessert plate and a long knife, in a box opened just slightly, rested a quarter of the wedding cake. The wedding cake was really really tasty. As I removed the plate and the knife from the box top, I momentarily worried that I might be scooping up what should be saved for anniversary one. Preposterous, I soothed myself, that piece is long ago wrapped and protected elsewhere.

I cut myself a slice of deliciousness. Rather than dirty more plates and utensils, I decided to stuff cake directly into my mouth while standing over the sink. Yes, Margo's mom could appear in the kitchen at any moment. Yes, my mom is cringing as she reads this, but sometimes the right thing to do gets overtaken by really good cake and efficiency.

Part 1: Midwest Wedding
There was a time when I could count the number of plane trips I'd taken in my life. These days I have trouble counting the number of plane trips I've taken in a year. Much of the airplane travel ritual has become standard, but the flight to St. Louis was special. It wasn't Southwest airlines with their new found touchy-feeliness, although the lack of a checked bag fee never hurts, that made this leg of the trip a winner. No, the winningness was all due to Kim. It had been a long time since we'd been on a trip. Motherhood has kept her busy. We talked the whole flight, only pausing to consider that our life vests were under our seats and to take thoughtful conversational pauses.

Monika and J picked us up at the airport and our triumphant return (for 75% of us) to the Midwest was fully under way. The eating highlight, other than the previously mentioned cake, would prove to be the City Coffee House & Creperie in Clayton, Missouri. The menu had more delectable-sounding crepes than most teams had goals in the World Cup. It was so good that we ate there twice. If I lived near the place, I'm not sure I'd go anywhere else. I'd probably end up working there and swiping table scrap crepes from the tables I bussed. That dream was put on the back burner though, because I had a wedding to attend.

Margo and Tom were getting married. Up to that point I had three distinct memories of M & T as a couple. The first was when M and I were talking and she told me she was dating Tom. "Hmm," I thought. "I remember him from FARC." FARC, my college dorm, holds a vast power over its past residents. Few can even speak the name without a twinkle in their eye. The second memory came in a blink some months later when M was asking me what I thought of Tom. After fumbling about for a while, I finally settled on, "It's been more than 8 years since I saw him. If he makes you happy, I'm happy." The third memory was of an M & T visit to DC. Tom had Margo in stitches. It's true that she laughs a fair amount, but she certainly seemed happy.

Now, I have more memories to fondly add to the catalog. Their smiles as they surveyed the church at their wedding were enormous and wide. Tom has a naturally big smile, but neither of their faces seemed able to contain the joy they felt. It was contagious. By the time it caught up with me, I was ready to dance. My table of many former FARCers joined forces with some of the attendants to carve up a little corner of the dance floor. With flashes of college mixed in with a more grown up confidence, we danced. Sometimes it was a reckless tango with Hava, other times it was a slow motion tennis match with Kim. We interpreted individually or as a group, sang along, and let the joy spill from our dancing shoes. Jen and Dan cut the rug gracefully while Monika and J started out reluctantly before catching fire. We missed some of those FARCers who weren't able to dance with us. I sometimes found myself looking around for Matt as he's always been an inspiration to this particular breed of dancing, especially in that company. Our energy was easily matched by the bride's family. It was party and I was digging it.

Before the party could wrap up, a few of us slipped away to a fading beach party in the middle of a street, a limbo contest that didn't end, and a short visit to the bride and groom's house. They were absent, but we ate Doritos in their living room in their honor. It was a joyful start to an excellent vacation.

Part II: Independent Seattle- coming soon