History

Earlier in the summer, when I was desperately trying to get rid of my cucumbers and zucchinis, I drove house to house dropping some off for our neighbors.  I stopped at the Molnau's for what I thought would just be a quick "Hello!  Here are some giant zucchinis. See you later, neighbor," type of visit.  Instead, they greeted me warmly, inviting me into their kitchen to chat for a while, while I left my Jeep running in the driveway.  They have always taken a particular interest in what Aaron and I are doing.  In the few years I've lived here I've learned that Mr. Molnau is sort of the patriarch of the area.  Everybody knows him, respects him, and he knows a lot about the history of our area because he has essentially lived here his entire life.  He and his wife have five grown children and nine grandchildren and are some of the nicest people I've met. 

When we closed on our house in early 2008, the previous owners, who were only here for two years, told us that Mr. Molnau's parents built our house in 1950 and he spent a great deal of his youth in this home.  They also owned the land we have and much of the land surrounding our place.  But many, many, years ago, they sold off the 12.42 acre parcel that we currently call home and kept the land around it.  They often ask what we've done to the house, what color we painted the living room, and what plans we have for the property.  On more than one occasion, when Aaron has been out in the garage, Mr. Molnau has stopped by and commented that seeing Aaron brings him back to his youth and remembers watching his own father welding out in that same garage.   Some things never change, I guess. 

Naturally, when I chatted with the Molnau's they asked me about the baby. 

"Which room is going to be the nursery?"  Mrs. Molnau asked.

"It is going to be that front room," I said.

"Oh, yeah! That was Diane's room!" he chimed in.  "And my brothers and I shared that room by the bathroom."

It is funny to me to think about how different a mentality people had back in 1950, where a family of five sharing one small bathroom was completely normal and the house was built with the intention of children sharing bedrooms.  I can hardly stand sharing one bathroom with just my husband!  How did those brothers sharing a bedroom fit all of their stuff into one tiny bedroom closet?  And more importantly, where did his mother keep all of her shoes?

He recalled washing up at dinner time in the "sink room," which is now our kitchen pantry with no sink to be found.  Evidently, it was removed at some point.

I have always wondered why the "master" bedroom is not the one by the bathroom, away from the "kids" bedrooms.  Apparently master suites weren't really a thing when this house was built back in 1950.

Neither were views.  Lake homes were not designed to take advantage of the beautiful lake views as they didn't hold as much value back in the day.  It wasn't until more recent decades that they were built with big picture windows overlooking the back yard. 

"I'll never understand why my dad built that garage there!"  He said of the garage that sits in front of our house, partially blocking our lake view from our kitchen window.  A question we've asked many times!

I learned that when Mr. Molnau moved to the city and got married, he and his wife and family eventually moved back to the area, and started building their house on the lake and the grass strip airport around 1969.

Many of the neighbors in the area are hobbyist pilots and have airplanes they keep in the hangers.  It's one of my favorite things about our property: views of a little lake, a vineyard in front of us, and a charming grass strip airport where small two-seater airplanes fly right over our house. 

45 minutes into my visit, he pulled out this old photo for me and after some deciphering, decided this was taken by him from the air circa 1970.

I realize this photos is meaningless when you don't really know what you are looking at.  This was taken from the south side of the lake looking at our property.  Because I am so highly skilled at the Paint application, I used it to outline our property in red and identify some landmarks for you. 

Aaron and I are arguing over how we've heard the story.  He heard that the chicken coop was a Grainery back in the day.  Since I don't see the chicken coop was even built in this picture, that makes me think the Grainery was actually in that building that I X-ed out in the picture on the edge of our property since that building does not exist today.

Of course, my argument would be much stronger if I actually knew what a Grainery was. 

"What's a Grainery?  So did they, like, grow grain here or something? Did grain farmers live here after the Molnau's or were the Molnau's grain farmers?" I asked Aaron when we were analyzing this picture.  "I need to know for my blog post!"

"Yes," he said as he patted my head and smiled. 

I guess we still have some questions for the Molnau's the next time we see them.  I'm getting to the bottom of this!

About a year after we moved in, on one of the first nice spring Friday afternoons, we had an unexpected guest drop by.  It was the owner of our home from 1999-2006.  She explained that her husband was a pilot and work had moved them out to the Seattle area, but she had come back to Minnesota for a visit and had to stop by and see their old place.  She was married with 3 children and were the ones responsible for all of the updates to the house.  And it was nice to put a face with the blueprints we found tucked away in a cabinet drawer.  Had they decided to stay, they had big plans for an addition to the house and we've been studying those blueprints to get ideas for our own addition. 

She said when they bought the house it was "disgusting,"  or rather, it was the house of a couple that had lived there a really long time and it was in desperate need of help.  They did a lot of remodeling and I have her to thank for the sunny updated kitchen that I LOVE!  Her husband was gone flying much of the time, which left her here to take care of the land AND her three children.  Can you imagine?  Neither can I.  They ended up leasing out the 10 acres plot to a farmer who grew corn and soybeans, so that made things more manageable for her.  But they did actually raise chickens in the chicken coop!

So, I also have her to thank for the hours and hours I spent cleaning poop out of that building.  Which was also when I discovered some old treasures stowed away in there...an old school desk, a rusted out bike, and some old horseshoes, which were actually used for horses, not the yard game. 

The most amazing part was that she said they had envisioned being here forever and had even talked about growing grapes!  Funny to think someone else had the same vision we have now...raising our family here, growing a vineyard, and eventually greeting our grandchildren here.  For our benefit, I'm glad they had a change of plans.  

We don't know a lot about the family that lived here before them, except that we still get their mail.  But we do know they were here for a couple of decades and had a horse and cow pasture on the property.  Which explains the excellent "soil" I have in my garden.  Ahem. 

It's so fun to hear about the families that lived here before us, what dreams and plans they had and fulfilled here, the families they raised here, and the memories they created here.  And it's even more fun carrying on some traditions, creating our own, and refreshing the property after so many years. 

I still feel like we have so much to learn about this place and the 60 years of history that preceded us here.  Next time I stop at the Molnau's, I won't keep the car running.  I have a lot more questions for them.

September

See the hammock that adorns the two trees in this picture? 

It's just for show. 

This year, it was better used as a photography accessory than it was for its intended purpose- a nap.  But it does create the illusion of a serene setting in the forefront of the vineyard, doesn't it? 

I had this idea that once harvest was done, it would mean relaxation, a little reprieve from vineyard work before we'd have to start back up again with trellis work. I had envisioned finally taking a little snoozer in that hammock since it has remained vacant all summer long, with the exception of kids age 5 and under who like to play in it. 

But I haven't been able to do this for the following reasons:

1. No sooner had we picked the last grape than Aaron was back out there putting up trellis posts for the vines we planted this spring, tilling up grass, and spraying weeds. His energy is endless! I have spent weekend days following him around taping and stapling up vines onto the wire that he's been stringing up.  This needs to get done now before the vines start to harden off so that they have their correct shape for winter.  Long story short, how lazy would I feel if I just sat in the hammock and watched him do all this by himself?  And if I'm not able to keep up with him outside, I am probably cleaning the house, feeding the dogs, cooking dinner...or going to the bathroom. 

2.  If I did find the time to sneak in the hammock, there is no doubt the dogs would find me there and try to climb in with me.  Trust me.  They have tried before.  And 200 lbs of dog + pregnant woman in a hammock does NOT equal relaxation.

3.  I'm afraid, if I am able to overcome #1 and #2, that if I do get in the hammock, I might not be able to get out!  The ab muscles required to rock yourself up out of the crescent shape are long gone.

Anyway, my dreams of napping in the hammock are dashed, at least for the time being.  Maybe later next month when I can take in the fall foliage and Aaron is available to pull me out if I need help.

Here is a taste of what we (and by "we" I really mean mostly Aaron), have been working on this month. Those of you who helped with the planting party in May, thought you'd want to see how those vines did this growing season.

Pretty well!  Can you see all the green growing up on the bamboo?  Aaron just tilled up the grass between the rows so we can replant grass seed because...

well, too many weeds were sneaking up and it was easier to start from scratch. So we'll have nice fresh grass next spring for these vines.

We have decided to take a break from planting next year.  At least not nearly as many vines.  I think Aaron has 100 on order of a new grape, Frontenac Blanc, that was recently released from the U of M and we wanted to jump on that right away! 

So these 4.5 acres adjacent to the 5.5 acre vineyard will remain a vacant field for the time being, ready for expansion in subsequent years.  In the meantime, we plan to focus on the winery and manage the 3500 vines we've accumulated the past few years!  I think that's a good start for now!  The dogs will be glad to know they can continue to hunt mice in this field....for another year at least.

Epilogue

I meant to post this last week as a follow-up to my lederhosen-how-we-met story so you could learn where I got my inspiration to finally write it.  So, consider this an epilogue to my lederhosen story. 

The amount of gushing I did over my husband in those two posts, you'd think he would be walking around here like king of the world.  Fortunately, it doesn't seem to have gone to his head too much.  Although he was appreciative of my telling the story, he knows I'll be back to teasing and disclosing the details of his latest DIY project in no time. 

Anyway, a few weeks ago, a blog friend of mine, Jessika, upon hearing our baby boy announcement, sent me a baby gift. Wasn't that nice? Without actually knowing the story of how I met Aaron in lederhosen, she had seen one of our wedding pictures when he had them on and figured we are probably a couple that would appreciate a pair of little boy lederhosen.  She figured if Aaron actually wore them at our wedding reception, we must have some personal connection to them. 

Was she intuitive or what? She said she had picked up these adorable little things a while back not knowing exactly what they would be used for, but when she saw us, lederhosen husband + baby boy on the way, figured it would be a perfect opportunity to gift them.  I about died when I opened them up.  I mean, if seeing Aaron in lederhosen made me swoon, I don't know what seeing my little boy in these will do to me!  Parents, lock up your little girls! Schrambino will be stealing hearts of 3 year old girls in no time!

Thank you, Jessika, for the gift and for finally giving me the kick in the rear to dish out that story! Aaron is already planning his first Oktoberfest outing with our little guy.  Two Schram boys out in lederhosen?  That sounds like Trouble, with a capital T!  I think he knows it's only a matter of time before he has to share the spotlight!

Grape Stomping!

Last weekend, we finally finished picking all of the grapes.  In all, we harvested Marquette, Frontenac Gris, and a little bit of Briana.  Aaron and I spent much of the day on Sunday sorting the grapes by hand and plucking off any bad grapes before putting them through the grape crusher.  Not gonna lie, that's not my favorite job.  Kind of tedious, takes a long time, and my hands get really sticky and gross from the grape juice.  Once I finished the last lug, I made some excuse to Aaron so he wouldn't stick me with another boring job or pull out another hidden batch for me to sort. "Uh, honey.  I have to use the bathroom." 

And I went inside for 45 minutes.  I didn't really go to the bathroom, but when you are pregnant you can get away with saying that without being asked questions.   I felt gross and gooey and tired after being out all day and just as I was about to jump in the shower, Aaron opened the front door and said, "Ashley, don't shower yet!  I need you for something.  And bring the camera!"

Ugh!  What now?  I couldn't sort another grape!  But like a good wife, I went to see what my husband needed.  It wasn't fair for me to stick him with all the clean-up.  It was almost 7 p.m. and starting to get dark, so whatever it was couldn't take too long. 

When I walked out front, he had a big grape tub waiting for me. 

"I need your help to try and get some more juice out of these grapes," he said smiling.  "Can you stomp them for me?"

So, last Sunday night, just the two of us, I did my first grape stomp and broke in the new grape stomp tub.

I was ready to jump right in and tackle those grapes when Aaron stopped me. 

He had to sanitize my feet first so I wouldn't taint the grapes with my foot germs.  "Don't let your feet touch the ground!" he instructed.  He hosed them off, sprayed them with some sort of sanitizer and then picked me up and plopped me in the grape tub.

The only way I can describe the sensation is that it kind of feels like standing in the inside of a pumpkin.  Same gooey, wet, gloppy texture.  If you are the kind of person who loves carving pumpkins and sticking your bare hand in to clean out all the seeds and glop, then a grape stomp is for YOU! 

I am the kind of person who likes to clean out pumpkins....

I took this grape stomp very seriously! I walked in circles, jumped up and down, and did the running man.   

 

It was just a typical night at the Schram household.  So much for movie night and lounging on the couch.

It's actually a really good workout having to repeatedly lift your feet in and out of several pounds of grapes!

One for the baby book. 

Now that I've had my fun and broken in the grape stomp tub, I'm ready to pass this duty on to others for next year!  Who's in?

The Lederhosen Story: Part 2

continued from Part I...

I could not have been standing there longer than two minutes when I spotted three bopping heads above the crowd and flashes of German costume through the sea of people.

"There they are!" Jill said, waving her arm above the crowd to flag them over.

And that's when he turned our direction and I saw his face.

"Oh, my gosh."  I said incredulous.  "Is that your friend?"

"Those guys in lederhosen? Yep. That's them!"  She said laughing, assuming that I was reacting to their German tuxedos rather than the strange coincidence I had just uncovered.  She was saying "them" but I was only zeroed in on one of them.

"I just saw him last night!" I tried to gesture towards one of them as they made their way over.  "He's your friend?"  I was excited and panicked, and freaked out all at the same time.

"Who?  Aaron?"  She said surprised.  "Yeah. Where did you see him?"

"At The Local. But I didn't actually meet him."

"Well now you will!" 

And that was the end of our exchange because by then the tall guys in lederhosen had made their way over to us.

Before I knew it, Jill was introducing me to her friends.  Mark, Adam, and....Aaron.  They were all smiles and full of energy.  The handsome guy I had seen the night before was now standing before me in authentic deerskin lederhosen.  And he had a name. 

"Aaron, this is my friend Ashley," Jill said when she got around to him.  And as we shook hands in the middle of Oktoberfest, our eyes met again.  I could see his head tilt and the recognition come across his face.  I wasn't sure whether to feel relieved, complimented, or embarrassed that he recognized me from our eye encounter the night before. 

We simultaneously acknowledged this recognition by saying something like, "You were at The Local last night!  Wow."  Laughing at the sheer coincidence of these back-to-back encounters.

Here are Mark, Adam, and Aaron, the night we met. How many people do you know actually have pictures from the night they met?  Fortunately, a friend of Jill's, Stefanie, joined us that night and she is great at documenting a fun night out.  This can be good and bad. She took 104 pictures that night, but I'll only post a few of the good ones. 

And the girls.  Mark's (now wife) Gina, Stefanie, Me and Jill

I'm not sure what to call it when two perfect strangers who have never seen each other before make eye contact one night, but not actually meet, only to be introduced by a mutual friend 24 hours later.  I like to think it was God's way of saying that meeting by chance at a work happy hour in regular street clothes wasn't good enough.  Had we met on Friday, maybe we'd be living an ordinary life.  For us to actually meet, a complex series of events had to fall into place.  Had I never decided to buy my condo in uptown, had I never bumped into Jill at a condo association meeting, had she not invited me out that night, Aaron and I may have just been two people who made eye contact one Friday night.  Maybe God wanted me to meet Aaron while he was wearing lederhosen because meeting under these extraordinary circumstances was an indication of a life less ordinary.  And that was just what I was looking for. 

We were still looking at each other while the rest of the group talked excitedly. 

"Want to go get a beer?"  Aaron asked me. 

Little did I know at the time the irony of that question and that whole night in general.  Two people with a shared love of wine, who would eventually marry and start a vineyard together, and the foundation of their entire relationship is based on beer.  Not just beer.  Heavy, German, drink-it-out-of-a-boot while wearing lederhosen-BEER!

For all I knew when the night began, I was just going out with my new friend, Jill.  There was a reason we decided to take a cab as driving home after drinking Hefeweizen out of 22 oz mugs would be out of the question.

It put a new spin on things to find myself suddenly in the same group as my German clad dream man.  And so we made the most of the situation by having a lot of fun together with our friends and exploring what this strange coincidence meant.  We drank Hefeweizen, we polka danced, we talked, we drank out of "das boot", and we laughed--a lot.

I was even casual and cool when women came up to Aaron and his friends and asked to take pictures with them. Women went crazy for these guys in their lederhosen!  One woman even offered Aaron a beer token if she could just pinch his bum. I couldn't blame her.  If I thought he was attractive in street clothes the night before, imagine what I thought seeing his bum and muscular thighs wrapped in deerskin.  Other women would be blind not to notice too.  In subsequent years at this same event, the crazy women didn't bother me at all.  By then, he was already mine and I took pride in knowing no matter how many women wanted to pinch his bum, he was coming home with me.  I'd practically pimp him out, "Let her pinch your butt, Honey.  Free beer!!"  

But that night, he was just a guy I had just met, so I slipped away. I didn't have any claim to him. He could soak up the attention of other women, but I wasn't going to be one of them pathetically falling all over him. Plus, it looked like he could use a good challenge. And I was an eligible bachelorette and there were plenty of other cute guys at Oktoberfest to flirt with, even if they were just wearing jeans. 

This was a picture taken near the end of the night (clearly) somewhere on the sidewalk while we bar hopped.  I, er can't remember what exactly was going on in this picture, but found it relevant to the paragraph above. 

The thing that struck me in that situation with those women, was that Aaron wasn't arrogant or a jerk, or exactly seeking out attention.  In fact, he seemed slightly embarrassed by the attention.  He was nice and humored these ladies, but promptly excused himself.  I had already found the rest of the girls and we were off getting our own attention from some other cute men.  Aaron came and found me, grabbed me by the hand and said, "Hey, do you want to go dance?"  It was then that I knew, even though this sexy lederhosen man had women crawling over him that night and he was practically Mr. Oktoberfest...he was into me.  Aha!  So a little challenge was what he needed. 

He held my hand all the way to the polka dancing dance floor where a little old man walked around playing an accordion.  I remember bumping into his friend Adam along the way and chatting for a minute telling him to get the rest of the group down to the dance floor.  Adam said something to me and referred to someone named "Schram." 

"Who's Schram?" I asked him seriously. 

Adam stopped, smiled at me and said, "Um...he's that guy holding your hand right now."

I'd forgotten that I was barely even on a first name basis with Aaron and here I was feeling completely comfortable holding his hand.  

So "Schram" and I went to dance and got the rest of the group to join us.  Did any of us know how to polka dance?  Nope.  There is just something about a guy who will dance, no matter what, even if he looks like a complete fool, but could care less what other people think that I find an extremely attractive trait.  And it was a trait Aaron and his lederhosen friends all shared.  They looked ridiculous!  And I loved it.  We all polka danced the best we knew how, which involved some form of skipping in circles and linking arms. 

Our first picture together.

If I had to rank some of the most fun nights of my life, that night at Gasthof's would be right up there. 

After spending a few hours there, we bar hopped to Nye's, a Polish bar.  It was the only place nearby we could think of where wearing lederhosen would still feel somewhat acceptable.  In case you are counting, yes, the first three places Aaron and I were ever in the same vicinity were, an Irish Bar, a German Bar, and a Polish Bar.  Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke, doesn't it?  But it was at Nye's where we had a chance to break from the group and just sit at the bar to talk.  Even though we had already drunk beer out the boot, polka danced, and held hands that night, I remember feeling like it was first date type conversation. 

It was then that I learned Aaron wasn't the big city slicker as I had assumed.  He was just a good ol' corn fed, hard-working Wisconsin farm boy who moved to Minneapolis after college for a job. We talked about family and I learned that we were both 4th children and, with the exception of his half-sister 17 years his junior, both youngest children as well.  I've always had a fascination with birth order, so my mind was already spinning with how well matched two youngest children would be and I believe I brought it up with him that night.  I also learned that he had recently broken up with a girlfriend.  He said when he saw me at The Local the night before, he thought I was attractive and got a good feeling from me, but knew if he talked to me it would probably lead to something, which wasn't exactly what he was looking for on the heels of a break-up.  It shed some light on why he wasn't quite on the prowl or acting on the opportunity to talk to a girl making eyes at him.  But then he continued by letting me know the minute he saw me again tonight that he knew it must mean something.  This girl must be something special and he better figure it out.  Fate?  Perhaps it was. 

"Do you mind if I ask how old you are?"  He asked me at one point in our conversation.

"I'll be 27 in two weeks," I told him.  "How about you?"

"I'm 31."  He was older than I would have guessed and I must have looked surprised.  "Is that going to be a problem?"  He continued, somewhat jokingly. 

I let that question sink in and realized that was his way of saying he didn't intend this to be the last night we saw each other.  Clearly a four year age difference was nothing and he knew that.  The future tense of his question "going to be" meant he saw this "going somewhere" and was trying to provoke a response to his subtle assumption that we would start dating.  Normally a guy just out of a relationship would be a red flag, but he was letting me know that even though we were both buzzed, sitting at a bar, he didn't just see me as a rebound.  Instead of a red flag, I saw it as another sign that we were meeting at just the right time.  Little did either of us know then that I'd actually be the one to play hard to get the first few months of our dating. 

While this story is very one sided and I can only speak for my attraction to him, it was evident to me that night that Aaron saw something in me too.  You'll have to ask him for his side of the story. 

The night didn't end there. We all made it back to Jill's condo for a little "after" party.  Aaron and I discovered she had Jenga on her kitchen table. Not wanting the night to end, we decided a game of Jenga at nearly 2 a.m. sounded like a good idea.  Every one else was already crashing on the living room floor.   This wasn't a normal Jenga game.  Each block had a question on it.  If you pulled a block out successfully without knocking the tower over, you had to answer the question on the block.  For the life of me, I can't remember what any of the questions were....except one. 

Aaron pulled a block out and read something along the lines of, "What is your life's dream?"

He looked me in the eye and without a pause said, "I want to have my own vineyard someday."

A vineyard, huh?  At that moment it sounded like a pie-in-the-sky dream, although I found it impressive, romantic, and extremely attractive that he had such a dream.  I was liking him more already.  I still had a lot to learn about this guy and we hadn't even had our first date.

The Lederhosen Story: Part 1

I promised long ago that I would post the story of how Aaron and I met.  Many of you already know this story, but for those that don't, I've peppered this blog long enough with teasers of "lederhosen" that I think it is time I finally put the story out there.  Plus, I had a gentle reminder and little inspiration recently from a blog friend, (a story I will get to later), and thought this seemed like an appropriate time to post the story of how two souls met and how a pair of lederhosen led me to a life of grape picking.

It was the first Friday of October in 2006 and I was at a happy hour in downtown Minneapolis at a well known Irish Pub called, The Local.  I was meeting a couple of my college girlfriends to catch up and the bar was packed with young, hip professionals-nothing unusual for this place.  At one point, I excused myself from the coveted table we were able to score to go to the bathroom.  On my way back, I bumped into a couple of acquaintances I knew from unrelated places, but learned they all worked together at the big corporation across the street and were all out for a beer after work.  I said hello to a few of them and then started chatting with a guy whom I saw from time to time through some mutual friends.  He was cute, single, very friendly, athletic, and had a good job.  Probably the kind of guy that a lot of girls had a crush on, but I was never really interested in him that way.   We'll call him Stu. 

As I was chatting with Stu, I scanned the group of his fellow employees and my eyes stopped when I spotted who I thought, at that very moment, was the most handsome man I'd ever seen standing at the other side of the table.  He was tall, about 6'3, with broad shoulders and I could tell he had some muscles under his button down shirt, which was tucked into his casual Friday jeans. I was glad to see his shirt tucked in as I wasn't a fan of wrinkled shirt tails hanging out on guys.  His dark hair was cut short, but not too short, just long enough to indicate he had nice hair and an even hairline.  He was clean-shaven showing off his chiseled jawline, and from afar, I could only tell he had big eyes that looked greenish-brown.  And most importantly, his left ring finger:  empty.  If you had asked me to describe my "type" I would have drawn a picture of this stud.

I'd be crazy if, as a single woman, I just returned to my table of girlfriends after spotting this guy. It had been six months since my last relationship, probably my longest string of singlehood since I was 15.   I was enjoying this bout of independence and had gone on a lot of dates during that six months, but picking up guys in bars was still foreign to me.  Normally, I wasn't so drawn by looks alone either.  Usually it was a personality or sense of humor coupled with good looks that drew me in.  Was this guy just a pretty face and hot body, or did he have the rest of the package too?  Was he even single?  I figured if I could continue my conversation with Stu just a little longer while trying to attract the attention of the most handsome man on earth, maybe he'd come talk to me.  Surely, he is friends with Stu since they are in the same group, and this would be the perfect opportunity for him to approach us and say, "Hey Stu, what's up?  Who's your friend?"  With that in mind, I carried on the most awkwardly long conversation with Stu, all the while taking sideways glances at this good-looking guy across the way.  Stu and I talked about people we knew in common, the weather, how packed the bar was, and when the conversation had totally worn itself out and I had the perfect opportunity to exit the conversation and return to my group of girlfriends.....I didn't. 

I stood there through the awkward silences trying to come up with some more meaningless small talk allowing more time.  But I barely noticed because I was too busy batting my eyelashes and wiping the drool dripping down the side of my mouth.  In hindsight, Stu probably thought I was really into HIM to have stood there so long with a flirtatious smile.  And that good looking guy across the way did meet me eye a couple of times in the midst of his conversation with a few people.  And my heart jumped each time. I kept thinking he'd pick up on my signals and find a way to make his way across the table to come talk to me and Stu.  But he never did.  After I casually asked Stu if he knew all these people pretty well, I learned that the attractive guy and Stu didn't really know each other at all.  They were in different departments, but must have known a lot of the same people at work. 

Any outsider looking in would probably think Stu and I were an item, or just flirting with each other.  That would be no way for a guy to make an entrance into a conversation with two people he didn't know.  At least I told myself it was that and not the fact that he got creeped out by the girl who he caught staring at him.  Twice. 

And I was definitely not the type of girl to go talk to him!  No.

So I wrote that handsome guy off that night, finally returning to my group of girlfriends, succumbing to the fact that I just wasn't his type and convincing myself that guys that good looking know they are good looking and are usually jerks anyway.  He probably only dates blond bombshells, not petite brunettes.  And it was quite possible he had a girlfriend.

I forgot about him.

*****

24 hours later, on the first Saturday of October, I had made plans with a girl I had recently met who lived in my condo building in uptown.  Jill was my same age, funny, single, and a lot of fun to hang out with and I was enjoying her friendship.  On this Saturday night, she had invited me to go with her to an Oktoberfest party at a German bar in Northeast Minneapolis called Gasthof's (short for a longer name, but I don't know how to pronounce nor spell it).  I had heard from previous year's that this Oktoberfest party was a great time--drinking out of the beer boot, polka dancing to accordion music--but I had never actually been before, so I was looking forward to a fun night.

We met in front of our building, got a cab and took the 20 minute ride across town, chatting the whole way about ex-boyfriends, and how we had each changed three times trying to figure out what to wear to a German tent party in October in Minnesota.  I had decided on jeans, my 4-inch heels, and a gold-ish tanktop. About 2 minutes from Gasthof's she said, "So we are meeting a few of my guy friends here.  One of my co-workers and a couple of his friends I've known forever." 

"Okay, cool." I said. 

And as we pulled up to the bar and I could hear the music playing and see the big beer tents she said laughing,  "And one more thing.  These guys all just got back from Munich and I guess they went to Oktoberfest and bought lederhosen!  So they told me they are all wearing them tonight! So keep your eyes peeled for some tall guys wearing lederhosen."

I almost fainted at that sound of it.  Tall guys who aren't afraid of dressing up in public, not caring what people think and just out to have some fun?  And in lederhosen, no less?  Right up my alley.  These guys must have great personalities.  I wonder if they're cute?  I knew it would be a fun night already!

And so I stood with my friend Jill, under the beer tent, scanning the crowd for her friends:  Tall guys in lederhosen.

To be continued....