Grandma and Grandpa Hodel lived on Susan Lane in a modest ranch style house; a couple of Fridays a year, however, the house was no ordinary farmer’s home on the edge of Metamora.  It became Honky Tonk’s Pizza Parlor and was the Chuck E. Cheese for my cousins, siblings and me–no adults allowed.  We’d gather around the old wooden table, complete with hand braided fabric placemats that grandma had made.  The gooey  home-made pizza and sweet iced tea taunted us during grandpa’s lengthy prayer, and then we’d dig in, playing little mind to grandma’s reminder to use the napkins. After all, the Hodels were on sabbatical and good ‘ol Honky Tonk was in charge.  Supper was a loud affair of talking, laughing, and anticipating the pool tournaments that would take place in the basement throughout the evening.  I don’t know who came up with the idea or name of Honky Tonk’s Pizza Parlor, but after one party, it stuck and we even as high school kids, we looked forward to the nights when the grandparents would “vamoose” and Honk Tonk took over.

Christmas was another extraordinary affair at the Hodel home–it wasn’t enough to wear tacky Holiday sweaters and socks, though we all wore both, but we also had to lug our instruments through the front porch door and into the living room.  In my family, it was normal to have a full instrumental concert prior to opening presents.  Mom, my sister, and I played the clarinet, and grandma took her turn in between.  Aunt Karen played flute and my  brothers made up the brass section, as Duane mastered the tuba, Brad the trumpet, and Jeff the Saxophone.  Dad didn’t want to feel left out, so he’d join in on his harmonica every time he saw an opportunity, and Uncle Doug and Lori led the choir, accompanied by Aunt Janet and Christine.  I don’t know what other instruments were involved, but I know that everyone had their part either instrumentally or vocally, and lack of participation was not an option.  I also know that I was completely horrified when grandma told my high school sweet heart that he could stop by and join us one year. Thankfully, mom said this was family only time and I dodged that awkward explanation.  As always, nostalgia trumps embarrassment and I would give anything to gather one more time with our family band.