like a postcard of a golden retriever
Jackie and my dad in Brooklyn, February 09
My dad comes this weekend! My dad is pretty awesome. He loves baked goods and Alfred Hitchcock and lives in New York City like a fancy guy. His favorite story about me is that one time when I was three I came up to him at a party and kicked him in the shins for no reason. Ask him. He’ll tell you. He also does a great impression of my Nana, who is apparently the originator of our weird familial compulsion to tell each other everything we ate that day. (Also, completely unrelated but telling: one time I was playing that game with Jackie and I had literally been listing stuff for like ten minutes and finally she was like “Jesus Christ, are you DONE?” and I was like, “Yes. Oh, also a pulled-pork sandwich.”)
Anyway. Tom pointed out that my dad is pretty much the easiest guy in the world to entertain because all he really wants to do on vacation is eat good food and chat and take a nap every day at 3 o’clock. THAT IS A PLAN I CAN GET BEHIND. On the agenda for this weekend: fried mozzarella at Maggianos, a trip to Cider Hill for some apple picking, dinner at my house (I really want to make Rachael’s Florentine Prosciutto-Wrapped Chicken! Is that shameful?), and a trip to see Tom at work for some drinks.
And, clearly, naps.
Back on Monday. Hug your Pops.
PS: Don’t you think the guy who won the Peace Prize today is cool and handsome? I sure do.
October 9, 2009 @ 3:38 pm
Nana’s like to do that, take stock of what their family members ate. Everytime my son visits his grandmother, she feels compelled to email me and tells me everything he ate while there. It cracks me up.
I remember my own grandmother doing the same. She would babysit us and when my parents came home, she would recite what each one of the four kids ate while they were gone.