Over the last couple of weekends, I got to visit four of my oldest college friends. If memory serves, we all got shuffled into overflow honors housing in Cope Hall instead of getting a room on the top floors of Clemson House. At first I remember feeling ripped off, but now, after so many years of so many zany, madcap adventures, I feel marginally less so.
I spent a day in St. Augustine with Captain Patton and his bride, pictured here at Fort Matanzas:
After Fort Matanzas, we visited the Castillo de San Marcos, where we saw a kid nearly run off the roof in his rush to watch the cannon fire, and then the oldest wooden schoolhouse in America. For lunch, we ate salteado (chicken, chorizo, peppers, mushrooms, yellow rice, yummy) at the Columbia. Later, we visited the Fountain of Youth–which apparently isn’t really a fountain of youth–and listened to old burned-out hippies dressed as Native Americans tell us stories of how the locals once lived. That night, we wandered the quaint streets of St. Augustine, wading through rows of souvenir shops that seemed to run together after a while.
Over Memorial Day weekend, I drove up to Virginia to visit the Mole family and the Hmnahmna family. Sadly, I only got to spend one afternoon with Mole, his wife, and his son before they were off to watch a Yankees game. They were gracious enough to let me stay at their house during my visit. Within an hour of their departure, lightbulbs had burned out, sink faucets were leaking, and the smoke detector was blaring.
Some pictures of Baby Mole, Moladette, and Oliver, the Mole family dog:
I spent a couple of days hanging out with the Hmnahmnas, and I met their beautiful baby girl, Baby Hmnahmna, for the first time. While there, Dr. Hmnahmna made bacon-wrapped filets and deep-fried a turkey in peanut oil. I knew I kept him around for a reason.
Good, wholesome people. I still intend to have their babies fall in love and marry against their parents’ wishes, but there seems to be a rival for Baby Mole’s affections: a young lady born on the same day and in the same hospital as he.
From there, to South Carolina to visit my good buddy Chip. There we feasted on the finest buffet victuals and butter rolls that Ryan’s has to offer. We traded tales of valor and woe, spoke on literature and politics, and philosophized for hours before I made my way home. No pictures, I respect his privacy.
I missed seeing Robert and Brundgren and Aabrock and Nikita and a few other people. I hope that one nice, clear, not-too-distant day, we shall all reunite.
It occurs to me that I don’t have pseudonyms for Patton and Chip.