Such a busy weekend, aka, why I haven’t written in days.
For a few weeks this fall Navy Pier is hosting Oktoberfest. The admission is free, a polka band plays, and there are beer steins, so really life is all rainbows and fairy tales there. I had gone with my husband and friends on a cruise on one of the old timey tall ships (which is awesome, but very cold at the end of September) and we saw the tent set up for the Fest as we came back into port. Deciding we didn’t want the evening to end, we headed over.
I knew we were in for good happy times the minute we walked through the door, as there was a huge, and I mean really huge, polka band playing. There were all of these people dressed in German garb standing in front of them, clapping along and smiling, beer steins in hand. It was some sort of tribute to them. Soon after the regular polka band got up and began playing and we sat down for a beer.
There was general joy ensuing around us, clapping and cheering, singing along. I was doing the same, bouncing up and down in my chair, singing when I knew the words. The chicken dance came on and I was outta my seat. There were only a few people dancing, mostly the servers in their traditional garb. So little ol’ me in the mix was a standout. But I didn’t care. I was shaking my butt and clapping my fingers together, lookin’ like a fool. Or a chicken. I’m still not sure.
The next round of dancing I partook in was with my husband. He is of Central/Eastern European decent and so we played the polka at our wedding. My husband, rather than grabbing me, grabbed one of my bridesmaids to dance and there are lovely pics of him twirling her around as I stood on the edges clapping. I’ve never let him live it down. So when the traditional dance began, I began digging that subtle guilt into his ribcage until he put his beer down, put his hand out and guided me onto the dance floor. We played with it, throwing our own twist on things, and laughed the whole way through the dance.
My final risk within this risk was to get a picture with one of the traditionally dressed old men walking around. They just looked so cool. There was one with a giant feather in his hat. I really wanted the hat. But all I was allowed was this picture:
We were all a little toasted at that point, hence the blurriness. But you get the point. And the awesome.