12 August 2007

Good Peeps. Good Eats.

FloridaDad and his bride SWE-Judy visited last week, up to catch the band and to see our shared crack dealer (= chiropractor / podiatrist one stop shopping). Company coming to visit means my place gets clean. Not that I live in filth without an audience, but the place gets down right spiffy when it knows it’s going to be shared. I’m a fan of spiffy.

But two retired engineers coming to visit also means they’re accomplished honey do-ers. And wow, did they do.

1. Ikea wardrobe interior guts assembly: check.
2. Visit to Ikea to replace a drawer that came with wrong parts: check.
3. No complaining when I pick up more stuff at Ikea that results in more honey-doing: check.
4. Pictures hung in my bedroom: check. Downstairs half bath mirror installation: check.
5. Dining room light fixture installation: check.

And not a single PF! moment – though the light fixture installation came awfully close to invoking one.

Had the band and some peeps over before our performance last Saturday night. Had one of those moments where your parents tell stories with glee that are meant to embarrass. For my sister’s sixteenth birthday, we all got dolled up and went to a fancy-schmancy French restaurant, La Guingette. They all ordered their gastronomic delights, while twelve-year old me sat fiddlef*cking around with the bread and butter. I was one picky ass-eater as an urchin, I tell you wot. As we left the restaurant, my Dad acquiesced to my hunger complaints and went through the Roy Rogers drive thru to get me fries. Had I not had a food revolution thanks to FloridaDad and SWE-Judy’s long stay last summer, I might have been embarrassed in the telling. But listening to him fondly regale a tale of Cheek picky-ness – sorry, particularness – was easier to swallow knowing that I now will swallow so much more. So to speak.

The gig that night was great – our best yet, methought. Kimplicated, my concert consort, reported that each time she hears us, we’ve a tighter sound. We played until just after 1 and tho’ my folks stayed to the end, I ‘spected to find ‘em long abed by the time I got home. We stayed up another hour and slept in until noon. They’d certainly earned their rest with all their honey-doing. For retired folks on vacation, they shore did work their fannies off while visiting me. Strange thing is, they didn’t seem to mind at’all. They’re project people at home; guess they’re project people wherever they go.

I kept them both plied with good food and drink to reward their efforts, but I didn’t come close to remuneration the size of my gratitude. We splurged against any semblance of self control when I took ‘em to Huey’s in midtown for brunch on Sunday. Beignets as hors-d’oeuvres. Dad, the crab eggs hollandaise. Judy, the asparagus mushroom omelette. Me, the pain perdue with strawberries and pecan honey butter. And of course, you can’t go to Huey’s without stopping by next door to visit the birds at R. Thomas.

Sunday afternoon found us at Pjayamamama’s place, where they plied us with Frogtown Vineyard fruits and fantastic Scooby snacks as arranged by Sir Alex.

One of her church friends came by and joined us as her urchins frolicked in Pjayamama’s pool. I could have listened to her South African lilt *all day*. What is it about accents that so tickles my fancy? Departing Pjayamamama's neighborhood, we spied THE largest hydrangea bush I've ever seen. Wow.

Good peeps. Good eats. Good music. Good times. Good times.

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