As far as non-wedding-related activities of the weekend go, we were just really happy to have so much time to visit with people we don't normally get to spend time with. We stayed at Jennifer and Joe's house, along with Judy and Bill, who drove up from Mount Sterling, and so got to have a nice visit with all of them.

Robert and I don't get to see his niece Aurora too often as we're all the way out in LA, so when we got to pick her up from kindergarten Friday at noon and spend the rest of the day with her, it was a real treat for us and Jennifer. Like good aunts (and uncle), we fed her chocolate-dipped ice cream for lunch, with the healthy addition of cheese sticks for dessert, and then played together at Jennifer's house all afternoon.

Here we must digress, however, and tell a story about a light-sabre. About a month ago, we had the following telephone conversation with Aurora.

Aurora: "You know what you can get me for Christmas??"
Us: "What?"
Aurora: "The Darth Maul light-sabre that lights up at both ends and goes 'tchh, tchh' when you hit something with it!"
Us: "Hm. . . well, maybe. . . ."
Aurora: "You can get it at Meyer, in Champaign, in the back of the toy department!"
Us: "Okay, we'll see."

After that, of course, there was nothing we could do except run out and buy the light-sabre as directed (we didn't follow Aurora's exacting instructions to the letter, however, as we bought it at a Walmart near Los Angeles). We decided to give it to Aurora when we saw her in Chicago on the weekend of Dave's wedding, as an early Halloween present, so we wrapped it in children's wrapping paper with a "Happy Halloween" note, button, and socks (with real 3-D scary spiders on them--see the picture of Bill, absolutely terrified of the spiders) taped to the outside of the package. As the package was too long to fit in a suitcase, we put it in a shopping bag to carry on the plane.

Big mistake. We strolled through the metal detectors at the airport, happily knowing that since we'd checked our bags at the curb and had e-tickets already, we didn't have to wait in any lines, but could just proceed to the gate and wait for our plane. The security guard stopped the x-ray machine with my pocketbook and our shopping bag inside.

"Whoa!" she said, ominously. "What's that?"
"Oh, that must be the Star Wars toy, a present for our niece for Halloween," I offered, helpfully.
"You call that a toy?" the guard asked suspiciously.
"Yes, it's a toy light-sabre that. . . "
"A what??" The guard practically arrested us on the spot. "Is that a real light-sabre?"

At this point, Robert took over. He started out happily enough, explaining Star Wars and Darth Maul and light-sabres and toys and nieces and Chicago and Halloween, but faced with the security guard's hostility ("dangerous weapon" "illegal" "call the police" "not allowed under FAA rules" "danger to passengers"), he quickly degenerated into demanding, "Have you ever even seen Star Wars??" in a desperate tone of voice.

Meanwhile, I reflected that perhaps that was not the best question--on one hand, the guards couldn't help but pick up on the derision in Robert's voice for anyone who hadn't seen Star Wars, and on the other hand, even if they had seen the movies, all that would go to prove is that, in the movies, a light-sabre is a dangerous weapon indeed, capable of killing people, cutting through metal doors, and slicing off hands. The real thing to say, I decided, was, "Oh, by the way--Star Wars isn't real!"

It was all moot, because they decided they wouldn't let us in, not even if we unwrapped the package and took it apart, and certainly not even when I protested that business-men's heavy, hard-sided carry-on bags were far more of a weapon that a hollow plastic tube that when you put batteries in it glows to make a kid happy. With a long, unhappy line piled up behind us, we retreated to the check-in counter to find a box to check the package.

Ignoring the already long line there, as well, we cut to the front, explained our situation, and asked for a box for the package so that if we checked it, the decorations wouldn't get crushed and the light-sabre itself (the whole package weighing less than half a pound) wouldn't get destroyed. No boxes were available. In short, we made a scene and a heavy-duty plastic bag and a lot of tape were procured for us, and we doubtfully left the package on the baggage line and a very unhappy, very long line of passengers behind us.

In Chicago, now, back to the day before the wedding, Aurora had no idea what it had taken to get her light-sabre to her in one piece. She ripped the package open, thrilled, and when she'd taken the toy out, hugged us and exclaimed that "This was something [she]'d wanted forever!"

In addition to light-sabre fun, we played "traipse down into Jennifer's basement," "water Jennifer's plants," "build color-matched Cooties," and "slather glitter all over yourself and everyone else" (you can actually see Aurora glittering in the picture if you look carefully at her knee). It was a very exciting day for everyone, and we were sorry when Aurora had to leave to spend the weekend in Champaign.

Here I have to add a sentence or two more about Aurora and the glitter, mentioned above. First, during the long, trafficy drive to dinner, Aurora had managed to cover herself from head to toe in about five layers of glitter. Armed with the "no glitter near the eyes" rule, we decided this was pretty much a harmless sort of fun (the glitter really does wash off with soap and water). Upon arriving at the restaurant, we allowed her to put small amounts of glitter on the rest of us, as this also seemed to amuse her. So Robert had a glittery hand, I had glittery cheeks, Angelina had a glittery arm, and so on. When Aurora ran out of family members to glitter and had so much glitter on herself that she announced she was changing her name to "Glitter" (we all agreed it had a sophisticated stage-like quality to it), she moved on to the waitresses. As they'd stretch their unsuspecting arms near Aurora to set down a plate or glass, she'd smile up at them sweetly. "Glitter?" she'd ask, immediately giving them a nice stripe on their arm whether they agreed or not.

After dinner, Robert and I and Uncle Mike's kids wanted to do something slightly more exciting than Bill and Judy's plan of going home and going to bed at 9pm. We set out to look for a bowling alley, which Robert remebered seeing somewhere on the east side of the street on Central, in between Jennifer's house and the restaurant. Robert drove Uncle Mike's big, shiny white minivan with Matt as copilot in the front seat.

We drove and drove, seemingly for hours, through widely varying neighborhoods, not seeing bowling alleys, asking for directions, and almost giving up hope, until we finally found the bowling alley Robert had seen many hours ago. We found a parking spot on the street, and ended up quite happily bowling two games. Matt is an extremely good bowler, with a very professional stance and style and a great curve-ball. Camille is no slouch, either, and was right up there with Matt and Robert. Perhaps somewhat to Robert's surprise, however, his little cousin Angelina bested him in the first game! I made my highest bowling score ever, a whopping 89. As we were in the seventh or eighth frame of our second game, which we had resolved would be our last as everyone had had a long day, the lights turned to disco lights and black lights and the salsa music turned up. Robert and I had always wanted to do "moonlight bowling," but had never had the chance, and everyone was pretty excited about the nice atmosphere and the prospect of knocking down the glowing blue bowling pins.

On Sunday, after the family post-wedding brunch, all the Minnesota and Illinois people set off for their drives home. Jennifer and Robert and I set out to hit the flea market we'd passed on the way to brunch, but on the way there got lost, drove 33 miles outside Chicago, and found an excellent pumpkin patch/fall festival. Jennifer chose three pumpkins, and we wandered around, looking at all this autumny stuff and thinking all at once how unCalifornian it was an yet, since it was 78 and sunny, how very much the weather felt just like LA. The flea market, which we finally found just as they were closing it down, was nice, and we bought a few videos and other little things. The highlight of the afternoon, however, was a late lunch at Superdog, a hot dog stand/drive in which is much more than just a hot dog and shake stand: the hot dogs come in lovely blue decorated containers, "contentedly cushioned on a bed of fries, and comfortably attired in relish, onions, hot peppers, mustard, and pickles." You've just got to love a restaurant that puts so much work into their menu descriptions, even if the relish weren't the best I'd ever had and the hot dogs themselves incredibly juicy. Thanks, Jennifer, for the hot dogs and hospitality--and thanks, Candy and Dave, for a wonderful weekend bringing the family together!