The IC Bazaar

Fondly I look back at this time of year, the week before Thanksgiving.  At my house, it smelled of permanent marker and pie.  It was IC Bazaar time. 
Mom, as a member of St. Cecilia's Circle, would be busy in the kitchen making pies to sell by the slice from the kitchen at IC school.  I don't remember what else was served, but Jan Doyle made the most amazing cupcakes.  The frosting was meringue and there was a chocolate kiss stuck on top.  They were like nothing I had ever seen before.  Quite spectacular!
Dad, as the resident artist, was commandeered to make signs.  I remember laying on the old couch (the one with the two pieces) and watching him.   Big sheets of white paper spread out on the floor.  He would use the yard stick to make the faintest of lines on the paper so his words were straight.  (Then he would smack one of us kids with the yard stick.  That part was just a bonus for him.)  He would again use the faintest of pressure and write out the words on the sign.  It was usually the menu for St. Cecilia's.  Then it was time for the markers.  Standford brand, black, red and blue.  Chisel tip.  Smelled up the whole downstairs.  My dad was the best damn sign maker.  He had such a steady hand.  I especially remember how he would make the 0.  He wouldn't make a circle motion but instead he would make a ( and then a ).  It was always perfect. 
Then is was Sunday, Bazaar day!  This always fell close to my birthday, sometimes on my birthday. The day before I was born was a Bazaar Sunday.  My 5th birthday was a Bazaar Sunday.
IC school was an old school.  The gym and cafeteria were in the lower level.  The gym was also the auditorium.  The bazaar was set up in the gym.  A huge tarp was put down to protect the parquet floor.  Tables were set up all along the wall, and in the middle.  Every circle had a table.  A circle, as best as I could tell as a little girl, was a group of women that got together and made stuff to sell at the bazaar.  Each circle was named after a saint.  And the Mexican women belonged to the Lady of Guadalupe circle.  Mrs. Hernandez was in that circle.  I loved the Lady of Guadalupe table because Mary was always in such pretty dresses at that table. 
In addition to the tables was the Fishing Booth.  OH MY GOD!  The best booth ever.  It was always a good prize because the people behind the booth could look out and see who it was, girl/boy and age.  The other best table was the Mrs. Larkin's circle's table.  That was a table with wrapped presents on it.  The presents were marked with an age and sex.  We would try to feel what the present was through the wrap.  I got so much crap from that table!
And then it was time to eat.  Other than the cupcake, I have no idea of what I ate.  Then, off to mom or dad for more money so I could go fishing again. 
I hung out with the Derby girls at the Bazaar.  Jean Derby was in the same circle as my mom.  Bill Derby was hanging out with my dad doing booster club type of stuff.  I think they were usually with Father Hess shooting the shit by the back door.  Dad would be in his IC sweatshirt or IC windbreaker.   Father Moelner might come by in his collar but he would have a royal blue sweater on over it.  IC colors were blue and white. 
If we could, we would go up stairs to look at the mural outside the office door.  It was a mural of life in the school.  IC used to be a high school, too.  So 1st grade to 12th grade were once in those halls.  The mural was grand.  I remember it showed a basketball player towards the end.  But the story of IC is for another day.
One year for my birthday I got a trio of Sock Monkeys.  Mopsey, Flopsey and Topsey.  It was a mom, dad and baby.  And they were genuine sock monkeys made from real socks. 
There was something so amazing about those times.  I knew just about everyone at that bazaar.  IC was a close knit parish.  Families raised their kids together.  They socialized together and they made this community on the corner of 3rd and 10th.  The bazaar was the start of the Christmas season.  It was my birthday time.  It was magical.  I long for one more Sunday in November, with fishing pole in hand, hoping for something good.  I long for my Mom and Jeanie Derby behind the counter.  My dad sneaking out the door for a smoke.  And I long for my sock monkey family, the smell of magic marker and the squeaky sound it made on the paper in the living room while I laid on the old couch.