Happy Birthday, Betty!
I drove Janet to work this morning, an unusual event (I think in the eleven years sheʼs worked out of town I have driven her to her job only a handful of times, by which watery metaphor I mean: “probably a half a dozen or less”). Once or twice my up-and-back auroral trip was caused by vehicle malfunctions, but usually we plan for me to chauffeur so that only one car is there when I drive up at the end of her work day — sometimes so we can head out on a little trip, other times, like today, so we can go together to dinner somewhere.
Today weʼre crossing over into Illinois in order to celebrate Janetʼs momʼs birthday at Timmermanʼs, the kitschiest eatery we have encountered near us. A visit to the supper club is a temporal backstep directly into, say, 1962. Especially their cocktail lounge,* which is where weʼll meet the parents(-in-law) at the big almost circular bar. I used to experience the same bygone-looking, epoch-evoking sensations about the Iris in Mt. Pleasant (sadly defunct nowadays), but in the days I was thinking that, the time dislocation was only a decade or less.** With Timmermanʼs weʼre at the half-century-back mark!
Thereʼs a contemporary term for such an experience as we are anticipating for this evening, but as I have already used/alluded to it in the title of todayʼs post, iʼll pass on the opportunity to take the lazy route toward expressing the Timmermanish ambiance.
Their food is good (not our personal favorite styles, but Bing and Betty like it a lot) if very filling and hugely caloric. And the views from the big windows out over Highway 20 at the watery lagoon off the Mississippi are spectacular, particularly at sunset, the most desirable time for a windowside dinner, even if you get the seat with the sun right in your face.
Getting together with the Nortons for a festive occasion (holiday, birthday, anniversary) has become a minor tradition among that family (well, Janet — and therefore me — and her folks, although sister Diane and Steve were there to complete most of the family right after The Lovely One had her emergency retinal surgery a few years ago). The ʼrents often bring along their closest pals, who are good fun, and the waitresses probably grin behind their hands at the flirtatious old guys (who after much self-amusing banter will be leaving old-fashioned — and to some of us, embarrassing — minuscule tips) having a grand time.
Now if we all were dressed in sharkskin gray suits and flouncy or Jackie Kennedy-slim evening dresses… (In this heat, I intend to go in jeans shorts but with a short-sleeved and collared shirt.)
* A time-trippy term in and of itself!
** However, at the age I was in the earliest Seventies, the dislocation in time was subjectively as large in portion of lifespan.