Forgive the quality of the photography. We got to listen to Deacon John in the oldest Jazz Hall in the U.S. last night. The weather was perfect and Deacon John can still go. The structure itself is small, so they open up big windows and the crowd listens from outside. Food is served out of an old church next door. Beverages can be had for a “donation”. NOLA has no shortage of magical musical places. Add this one just north of the city to the list.
We walked to dinner last night with the family to celebrate the wife’s birthday. It is probably a mile or two from our house to downtown, across a nice college campus. Yes, a little warm, but that seems to be the best time for conversation with our kiddos. No electronics or TV or distractions. It is amazing what you can learn on a short stroll when they are “forced” to interact with you.
I was standing in my living room with my mother. Two eight year olds were battling with Lightsabers around our knees. Since I wasn’t wearing a protective cup at the time, I was shielding my crotch with both hands, not the most intelligent look for having a proper conversation.
“Believe it or not,” my mother yelled over the bedlam. “One day you’re going to miss all of this.”
I mean, I know that’s what is supposed to happen. In a perfect world, I’d live to be this arthritic, stooped old guy and I’d think back affectionately to those times of screaming Lightsaber duels, but, at this rate, I wonder if I’ll have this half fried brain and look back on my life and say, “What the hell just happened?”
Miss it? Really? These days I can’t even pull off something as simple as a trip the bathroom. One of three things will happen if I sit on the toilet at my house, and not one of them is something that should happen in a restroom.
“Dad, look what we won! Look what we won!”
My twins were racing through the school, ducking around other parents and students. It was carnival night and I felt like correcting them; we were not winning anything, we were investing vast sums of money on handmade games of chance, in exchange for trinkets that would be in the garbage before the sun rose.
I said nothing, squinting to see what they held in each hand. Was it water balloons?
They each had two small plastic bags. Inside each bag appeared to be one very seasick goldfish.
My oldest son has his driver’s license. When I think about my behavior once I was granted that responsibility, it scares the hell out of me. But, so far, this young man has resisted his sister’s suggestions to “punch it”, and seems to treat his fellow drivers with a respect that is well beyond his seventeen years. Continue reading “Driving Mister Dowdy”
What were you doing at 4 a.m. this morning? I get up early for work, but not that early. I was up at 4 a.m. this morning because of our dog. He’s one of those expensive hybrid dogs, either a Malty-Poo or a Shitzy-Malt, and he’s in bad need of a haircut. His name is Forrest Gump. Continue reading “Forrest Gump: Guard Dog and “Man” Dog”
We said good bye to baseball last night, with a loss where our bats, our pitching and our fielding all went to pot. For the sake of my 12 year old twins who really do love it, I pretend to like baseball more than I do. And I hate to end the season with a loss. But, I always enjoy the time of year where we put the bats and gloves away and get ready for another fall and spring of soccer. I enjoy their soccer more than baseball for a variety of reasons. Continue reading “Good bye baseball, hello soccer…”
We were on a long, family road trip and one of my kids told me he had to use the bathroom.
I smiled and kept driving. We’d just passed a rest stop and its little sign that said the next rest stop would be forty-seven miles down the road. I knew what was up. When a rest stop wasn’t available and a call of nature beckoned, then you’re forced to run the convenience store gauntlet for a bathroom break. For me, the convenience store is a financial deathtrap. That’s because after using the facilities my little kleptomaniacs will usually grab anything that isn’t nailed down, then I’ve got the choice of paying for those items or testing the response time of the local police department.