Super Tiger Producers West End My Gym Vermont Pope
“Camelot style?” Nazy asked.
“That’s right,” I replied. Humming.
“The rain may never fall till after sundown.
By eight, the morning fog must disappear.”
It was a Broadway/West End Musical kind of week. Melika and Tom treated us to a performance of The Producers at the Granada Theatre here in Santa Barbara. The show was great and it brought back memories of my frequent trips to London while working with Shell and HP. I used to see a West End show almost every time I went to London. But, as I explained to Nazy —
“The Lion King was particularly problematic. It wasn’t until the third time I bought a ticket that I actually got to see the show.”
“How can..”
“The first time, as I was getting off the tube at Covent Garden someone jostled me. When I got to the theatre, I realized that I had been the victim of a pick pocket; my ticket was gone.”
“And the second time?”
“Although I “always” changed the time on my watch when I flew to London from Zurich, I discovered that there is a difference between a quoted always (“always&rdquo
and an unquoted always (always). I thought I was arriving in time for the 8:00PM curtain, but it was actually 9:00PM; I missed the show. Again.”
“That was pretty …”
“…. ugly, Nazy. It was really ugly. The third time I tried, I was visiting London with you. We made it to the show and had a great Indian dinner at Chutney Mary’s afterwards.”
“Is that the trip where I ended up stuck in London because the cheap flight that you booked for me on (not so) EasyJet was cancelled?”
“It was cancelled because the French Air Traffic controllers were on strike.”
“But your flight wasn’t cancelled.”
“I flew from Heathrow Airport.”
“And you made it home right on time.”
“Yes, but you had the house keys.” I replied. “I had to sleep in a hotel.”
“I had to sleep in the airport.” Nazy’s riposte was perfect.
In other news, the Grand(est)son continues to amaze and delight. As regular readers know, he is attending Montessori School, music lessons and swimming classes. It turns out that he is also a regular at…
“… My Gym,” Yari, the nanny, confirmed. “And he loves it.”
Later in the week, we agreed to meet Yari at My Gym. I brought Tiger after I’d picked him up from school. Because Tiger fell asleep on the way, Nazy called Yari to cancel the visit. But as soon as we got to Melika’s house:
“He woke up!” I exclaimed. “The instant that I turned off the car, He woke up.” “He was probably faking sleep,” I thought.
“He is so tired, Dan. Maybe you can rock him back to sleep.”
“No sleep.” Tiger interjected.
“Would you like a nap?” Nazy asked.
“No nap!”
“Would you like to go to My Gym? I asked.
“Go My Gym,” Tiger replied.
He had a ball. (Literally). He also ran between the various stations (slide, trampoline, monkey bar, balance beam and stairs). He was a bundle of activity. But…
“The child is clearly deprived, Nazy,” I explained.
“Eh?”
“He should be learning to snow board.”
“Dan..”
“I also think that there is a sheep herding program in Goleta.”
“The baby is ..”
“The baby doesn’t have enough to do, Nazy. We should start him on flying lessons.”
“Flying lessons? You want him to pilot an airplane?”
“No airplane needed. Look at my hat, my dear.”
“So you’re ‘SuperDan’?”
“Precisely.”
On the political front, it seems that Donald Trump has won the South Carolina primary. Friends from overseas are underwhelmed.
“You know, Dan,” Brent said, “it’s okay if you guys want to be the world leader. That’s fine with us. But couldn’t you just let us have a little input into who you choose as President?”
The Donald even made the Pope’s S**t List. Interestingly, one of our friends from our New England Days was in Papal news as well. Pope John Paul II was a good friend of Anna-Teresa Tymieniecka, a friend of ours when we lived in New Hampshire.
Later this weekend Nazy and I will be going to a Western Line Dance event with the Santa Barbara Newcomers. Luckily, I have my boots and hat(s) and belts and vest. I just need my horse: Piccolo.
“Didn’t you fall off Piccolo and break your finger?” Nazy asked.
“I fell and I hurt myself. But I didn’t break my finger, I used it, or more accurately, I gave that finger to Piccolo.”
“Really?”
For last week's letter, click here
Tiger at Trader Joe's Flower Market