By lex, on June 19th, 2006
Weather perfect of course, and the only thing to be lamented was the all-too-frequent reminders from th’ingrateful children that school was out, summer was here and what had I planned for Monday?
Work of course, but for all that the weekend was very nice. Apart from an hour long sojourn through the local hills and dales on the velocipede – and let me tell you, the Immutable Laws of Time aren’t aren’t eroding those hills near fast enough – Saturday was mostly filled up with necessary domesticities which nevertheless are easily performed, gratefully complete and totted up afterwards as perceptible successes. May not sound like much to you, but then you maybe haven’t been pumping on the eternally unprimed handle of staff officership long enough, is my guess.
Went by the local moto dealership for to purchase the essential $5.00 nut without which the bike is unuseable. In the nature of such things, while waiting for the clerk to return, I came across a lovely set of monstrously expensive motorcycling gloves which I justified purchasing on account of the fact that Sunday was father’s day, I’d be saving the rest of them the worry about what to get me, and anyways there was the SAFETY ASPECT! to think about.
Safety every time, that’s my motto.
Father’s Day itself was all that could be hoped for. On top of the gloves – which the ladies eyed with some confusion – I was gifted two lovely linen shirts perfectly suitable to the season and a manifestly unseasonable blanket designed to replace the one the Kat had bought me for Christmas but had swiftly – you would not be corrected for saying “immediately” – requisitioned to her own use, being but a wee, bitty thing with huge deficits in insulation as compared and contrasted to your correspondent.
Off to church, the most memorable thing there being that the sermon was neither memorable nor long, and thence to a lovely cafe in Solana Beach for brunch, compleat with afternoon mini-nap inducing mimosas. Taken just for the vitamin C that was in them.
Up and out with the youngest to Lake Miramar for the fishing that was in it, well aware that 1400 on a sunny Sunday afternoon is not planning for success but hoping to demonstrate to the Kat that “fishing” is not the same as “catching” but can still be fun. No motor boats remained to let at that hour, so your scribe had the opportunity to entertain his youngest with his prodigious skill at the oar, a feat he performed at admirably – the entertaining bit, that is – since his fiberglass oars had no collar or “button” to keep them safely within the oarlock at all times, the john boat itself was a cross-grained brute and anyways the wind was up, wasn’t it?
No fish, nary a bite and after three children I’ve finally learned to take the hint when one of them asks whether or not it’s time to go home, at all, for the love of God? The Kat offered to take a place at an oar on the way back, but the hilarity of watching the boat go ’round and ’round in circles with only one of us rowing, even as it’s being blown further and further downwind and away from the landing proved too tempting for so tender a soul. For my own part, it was hard to be stoic, not to mention teaching your youngest daughter how to feather her oar from recovery to catch, when herself is almost suffocating in paroxysms of laughter at all the work you’re doing.
The capstone to the evening was the first rotation in the Old Globe’s annual Shakespeare Summer Festival, “A Midsummer’s Night Dream,” suitable for all ages, and with the promise of a slightly less suitable “Othello” and “Titus Andronicus” – which is right out! -on sequential weekends throughout the summer. Shakespeare, one or two of you may have heard, is the god of my secular adoration, and the play was indeed the thing.
We were seated at the outdoor venue and it was interesting to see how the director had imposed his artistic vision on the lowering gloom. Well played by all, even if there were a few, small miscues – it’s the first play of the rotation, and anyways, the same troupe is acting out all three folios which is something to think on.
I sat smiling from beginning to end, the Hobbit found it entertaining and even the Biscuit allowed as how it was good, clean fun. The Kat suffered patiently through the last half hour with only a few checks of SMS messaging on her cell phone, and nothing more than several heavy sighs.
All to the good however – culture sometimes hurts. And if a good time wasn’t had by all, then at least a good time was had by me. And that’s important, I think.
At least on Father’s Day.