The Estes
"Golden" Family Reunion
Intro/Sunday (continued)
Nephew Steven makes a low-key but nonetheless
dramatic entrance by stepping from the van with dark hair, a result of
"Christine's" suggestion, we are told. It looks good, but after
19 years of white-blond hair, takes some getting used to, and our
attention zips right back to the rooms.
Mom and Dad will get the king-sized bed room (# 19),
Wayne's crew of five will take the cottage (# 4), Larry and Debbie will
take one of the 2-queen rooms (# 30), and I get the other 2-queen room
(# 24) with Natalie and Alex, unless they'd rather take the other queen
bed in Larry and Debbie's room. They're game for either, I'm game
for either (and thrilled to be assigned a room of my own just like a
grown-up, happily proclaiming "I get a key!"), and it's basically
decided that Natalie and Alex will stay in Debbie and Larry's room --
no, wait, in my room -- or Debbie and Larry's room, whatever. We
check out the cottage, which has two rooms with queen beds (presumably
for Wayne and Rita and the girls) and a living room with a sofa
(presumably for Steven), and everything eventually shakes out to
Natalie and Alex staying in their parents' room, and Steven shacking up
with me and getting his own bed (much better than a sofa).
We all take breaks in our rooms to settle in, but
it's not long before we meander to the cottage, where Wayne is watching
Tiger Woods take the lead in the Masters and pointing out where he was
standing when he watched Arnold Palmer and Jack Nicklaus one
year. It begins raining that cats and dogs kind of mountain
downpour that continues even when the cloud breaks and reveals
sunshine. Less rain, then lots more, then it seems to stop.
It could be like this throughout the trip, but we're hoping for more
sun than showers. Conversation turns to the world-famous azaleas
at the Masters (how they spray stuff on them to keep them from blooming
before the tournament if the weather's unusually warm, or to speed up
their blooming if it's unusually cold) since we don't see any in the
television shots (Wayne pointing out "Those aren't azaleas -- those are
people!" when we spot some color that isn't green). And Allison
shows me and Debbie her "pet raccoon," a frighteningly realistic furry
toy that bothers Jennifer. On discussion of an appropriate name
for our trip's new fake raccoon mascot, I suggest "Patience."
Eventually, we want to go check out the town, and Wayne's begging "Five
more minutes!" to see Tiger take some particular shot at some
particular "heartbreak" hole that's really famous.
And we're off!
The weather has cleared, and we drive the block and
a half to the ghost town that the Highlands becomes after 5 o'clock on
a Sunday in the off-season. We walk around and look through
windows of closed shops, admiring the criminally expensive glass
artwork and whatnot of Florida summer tourists escaping the heat (a
shop on the edge of town, Whisker's Gifts, offers gifts for your cat),
and eventually begin a major trek for a restaurant that is open after 5
o'clock on a Sunday in the off-season.
Block after block, we appear to be heading toward a
brick oven pizzeria, which pleases me, but it doesn't seem to offer the
variety Larry thinks would be better, so Natalie and Alex scout an
actual second open restaurant. But we discover that "Wolfgang's"
is a swishy wine kind of restaurant featuring a chef from Brennan's and
plates a bit too pricey for starting the week. (Natalie and Alex
remind Larry that they didn't have the opportunity to "scout" it for
menu and prices, so much as ask the guy at the back entrance if they
were OPEN.) Dad notes how beautiful a quaint old church is across
the street, almost a New England look to it, and we agree, but we're
hungry -- and getting a little scared of our dwindling dinner prospects
-- and move on. Mom's recovering knee can't handle a walking
quest for a THIRD open restaurant in the town after 5 o'clock on a
Sunday in the off-season (a valiant excuse from Mom, but honestly none
of us can), so we drive back to the lodge to get advice.
Back at the lodge, Debbie makes a nice cup of hot tea, and Natalie and
Alex share a cup of too hot chocolate, none of which I recall actually
being drunk, but travels with us in the car to the next restaurant.
Happily, we end up at The Gaslight Cafe, an Italian
restaurant that's menu features a black and white picture of a man
cooking at a pot-bellied stove. (Debbie hopes that they've
renovated their kitchen -- or that he's all ready started cooking our
meal if he's going to be cooking on that, or we'll NEVER get
fed.) The greeter asks if we have reservations, I say yes, but we
came anyway, Debbie laughs, and I'm happy (a key to my own room AND a
good laugh at that joke). The place is, naturally, practically
empty, and they scramble to put together a table for twelve in the back
room. It's a nice casual place, natural wood walls and a warm
atmosphere.
However, we've been smelling cigarette smoke since
we stepped in, and it's not long before we discover that the kids
working there have been sitting in the back and smoking, waiting for
the restaurant to close for the evening. The new waitress offers
to spray some air freshener and barely gets out two squirts before
Larry decides that's enough of that, and laughs when she keeps spraying
around us. Throughout the meal, however, the back door behind
Rita keeps opening and letting in more cigarette smoke from their
latest refuge, and she finally manages to give it a good shove shut.
The menu is wonderfully varied, but features a
"sharing fee" of $8.95 that becomes legendary throughout the trip -- a
price so forceful, it scares us from tasting each other's food!
When I see that Alex is leaving that gorgeous green olive from her
salad all by itself and ask if she's gonna eat that... and she passes
it to me, Debbie cries, "Under the table or they'll charge us
$8.95!" We finally settle in with an assortment of Italian food
and seafood dishes that please most, with the possible exception of
Alex, who doesn't care for the cheese filling of her ravioli (Debbie
likes hers, but it reminds Alex too much of a frozen dinner)(Alex, and
the rest of her family, also didn't like Moulin Rouge, which leads to
quite an emotionally charged discussion of cinematic opinion on which I
am strongly outnumbered).
There is a little plate mix-up, where the waitress
discovers she gave
Dad Jennifer's plate (hers is vegetarian, Dad's is chicken, they're
both covered with marinara and cheese, and it's dark in the restaurant
-- an honest mistake, and the chicken eventually finds its home in
front of Dad after Dad began eating Jen's dinner without
noticing). Allison, sitting to my right (I get to sit at the head
of the table -- head of the table and my own key in one day!), enjoys
her Chicken Alfredo. To my left, Steven's digging on his meal,
but seemingly taking greater pleasure that he can't truly participate
in the conversation regarding work and dealing with the public (like
Natalie and me) -- he, a theater projectionist, mutters joyfully, "I
love my job! I don't have to deal with the public!" (And Natalie
tells us she was appropriately outraged at England's treatment of Peter
Buck for the airline mishap and happy that he was released of the
charges.) I enjoy a Crab Alfredo that I feel will haunt me for
all eternity, it's so tasty.
However, when
I offer Steven a taste
of the melt-in-your-mouth Crab Alfredo and he takes a bite, I look
around nervously for the Sharing Fee police.
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