Upon returning from Burlington, my brother and I met up with my parents and took a stroll through downtown St. Johnsbury, where my Memere lives. Its main drag is lined with historic buildings populated with small shops and boutiques.
Look! A random table and chair!
We ventured to my favorite bookstore in St. J, Boxcar & Caboose. In front of the bookstore stood a gathering of pre-teens singing hits from the sixties. Also in front of the bookstore stood a middle-aged lady still high from the sixties dancing and singing along with the aforementioned pre-teens. While her slurred speech was somewhat tricky to decipher, it's safe to say she was reliving the good times while simultaneously scaring the children. That's what we call entertainment, folks.
We maneuvered past the chorus and the crazy and I honed in on exactly what I was looking for in the beloved Boxcar & Caboose:
A book by Stephen Huneck, a man who was a local children's author and illustrator. This is now Caleb's favorite book.
We elbowed our way past crazy lady once again and continued our stroll. And then my feet started to hurt. And then I realized I was wearing really horrible shoes for walking. I could feel the blisters desperately trying to make an appearance, so I plopped down in the nearest random outdoor chair I could find (not nearly as plushy as the aforementioned random-chair) and my brother photographed me looking pathetic.
I was just desperate enough to maybe buy a new pair of shoes, so I ducked into one of the local shoe boutiques, saw that their cheapest pair of shoes was a cool $80, and promptly ducked back out. That was precious money I could be spending on Dunkin' Donuts, so I endured the blisters.
We meandered back to the car (with a few minutes still left on the meter--booyah!) and I blissfully stretched out in the back seat, giving my feet a rest. We headed out of St. J to the nearby town (township? village? cluster of houses?) of Passumpsic, to eat dinner with my Uncle Jim and Aunt Sheri in their perfect old farmhouse.
Old chimneys, old windows, wood floors, tons of history ... perfect. And this is their perfect backyard:
(My Mom and her twin, probably pointing out the perfect waterfall beneath the perfect bank that descends from their perfect yard.)
(I'm slightly jealous of her house.)
We sat on the backyard in the perfect evening air and enjoyed the perfection of being together.
The night was complete with a perfect bowl of cherries.
We ate dinner, talked for a long time, and then headed back to the hotel to get ready for the next day's big event: Memere's 90th birthday party.
Have a lovely day.
(A perfect stained-glass tree in their perfect window.)