hidden sunglasses chalk up birthday cake kindness
So there I was in sunny California — sans sunglasses. My favorite Maui Jim’s, the ones that I had worn for ten years in Switzerland (where it always rained) had vanished a few months ago. And now, the replacements, polarized aviators from Tommy Bahama, had followed them into oblivion. Nazy was understanding, well, Nazy ‘understood’.
“You lost them again? What is wrong with you?”
“I haven’t lost as many as … ,” I replied, pivoting with the adroitness of a Presidential press secretary.
“We’re talking about you,” Nazy retorted — with the relentlessness of a mainstream media journalist.
“Eh..” I tweeted.
“Eh? That’s your response? Eh?”
“Eh, tu, mein liebschen. I’m tired of the fake news that you keep spouting.”
“News isn’t fake just because you don’t like it.” Nazy replied. “Fake news? How about Obama wasn’t born in the USA? Or thousands of moslems in New Jersey cheered as the towers came down on 9/11. Or 5 million people voted illegally last November. Now those are fake news.” Nazy thought.
“Covfefe.” I mumbled risking Nazy concluding that: ‘he has symptoms of dementia’.
After considerable discussion, Nazy decided that I ‘needed’ two new pairs of sunglasses. She said that one would be for formal occasions, but since she was keeping it in her purse, I knew that it was simply the spare for subsequent disappearances.
As expected, Nazy got a great deal at Saks, Off Fifth. However, the deal was so good that they didn’t have glasses cases for the sunglasses.
“No problem!” I exulted. “I have a spare case.”
“Is that the one you had for the glasses that you lost?”
“I’m going to ignore that jib,” I replied as I opened the case — which was not empty.
“Are those the Tommy Bahama sunglasses that you said you had lost, Dan?” Nazy asked.
“Well look at that!” I replied. “I bet Nazy hid them in the case,” I thought. “I’d never put them there.” ”Dan..”
“I bet you thought I lost my sunglasses!” I responded indignantly.
“You are hopeless.”
“Yes, dear,” I said. “But now I have lots of sunglasses.” I thought.
“That’s true. ‘Temporary’ can be a long time.” I concluded.
We enjoyed the art and the adjacent street market food and wine offerings. I was walking Arrow, a lad who attracts attention with his mustache pacifier.
“That is so cute,” a local lady told me. “What’s his name?”
“Arrow,” I replied.
“Arrow?”
“My daughter is a millennial.”
“Ah! Gender neutral names.”
“It’s a new world. But this little guy demanded the mustache pacifier, so he’s sure about his sexuality.”
That evening we went to Lure, a seafood restaurant, for the birthday bash. In preparation, Nazy made a cake. Tiger was thrilled except..
“I want to eat it all before dinner.” He explained.
“The cake is for after dinner,” Nazy replied. “You can’t eat it all. It’s Mitra’s birthday cake. I will make a car birthday cake for you — when it is your birthday.”
“I want this cake. I want all of this cake. I don’t want a cake on my birthday.”
“But your cake will be chocolate. You like chocolate.”
“Mitra can have a chocolate car cake. I will take this vanilla cake. All of this cake. I want to eat all of it before dinner.”
And so the conversation continued as we drove to the restaurant. (It wasn’t easy to change the subject while Nazy had the birthday cake on her lap.) I dropped her off at the restaurant door and then drove off to locate a very remote parking place.
“Would you like to help me park the car?” I asked — to an enthusiastic reception.
I stopped the car, took Tiger out of the car seat, placed him on my lap and had him help me maneuver into a parking spot. Then he opened the sunroof, turned on the windshield washers, reprogrammed the satellite radio, made sure the electric door locks were functional, checked the high beams and attempted to call road side assistance.
“Perhaps Ive successfully distracted him,” I thought as we walked toward the entrance.
“Who’s birthday is it?” Tiger asked as we walked in.
The dinner went well and when they brought the cake (and candles), Tiger ‘helped’ Mitra blow them out. Then, before anyone could react, he jammed his fork into the cake, pulled out a chunk and…. offered it to Mitra.
The Family responded with stunned silence followed by a hearty cheer.
The next morning, before leaving, Mitra joined us at Arrow’s Music Class. There is a segment where the adults dance with the toddlers. As you can imagine, Mitra, considerably more polished and smooth of movement than me, volunteered to dance with Arrow. He had a great time.
There are rumors of momentous events taking place in the Middle East — specifically Beirut, Lebanon. More on that next week.
“You lost them again? What is wrong with you?”
“I haven’t lost as many as … ,” I replied, pivoting with the adroitness of a Presidential press secretary.
“We’re talking about you,” Nazy retorted — with the relentlessness of a mainstream media journalist.
“Eh..” I tweeted.
“Eh? That’s your response? Eh?”
“Eh, tu, mein liebschen. I’m tired of the fake news that you keep spouting.”
“News isn’t fake just because you don’t like it.” Nazy replied. “Fake news? How about Obama wasn’t born in the USA? Or thousands of moslems in New Jersey cheered as the towers came down on 9/11. Or 5 million people voted illegally last November. Now those are fake news.” Nazy thought.
“Covfefe.” I mumbled risking Nazy concluding that: ‘he has symptoms of dementia’.
After considerable discussion, Nazy decided that I ‘needed’ two new pairs of sunglasses. She said that one would be for formal occasions, but since she was keeping it in her purse, I knew that it was simply the spare for subsequent disappearances.
As expected, Nazy got a great deal at Saks, Off Fifth. However, the deal was so good that they didn’t have glasses cases for the sunglasses.
“No problem!” I exulted. “I have a spare case.”
“Is that the one you had for the glasses that you lost?”
“I’m going to ignore that jib,” I replied as I opened the case — which was not empty.
“Are those the Tommy Bahama sunglasses that you said you had lost, Dan?” Nazy asked.
“Well look at that!” I replied. “I bet Nazy hid them in the case,” I thought. “I’d never put them there.” ”Dan..”
“I bet you thought I lost my sunglasses!” I responded indignantly.
“You are hopeless.”
“Yes, dear,” I said. “But now I have lots of sunglasses.” I thought.
Chalk for street art
This week, Mitra came up to Santa Barbara to celebrate her birthday. It coincides with the I Madonnari Street painting festival which..
“.. yes, Dad, I have seen the chalk art at the Mission,” Mitra noted. “Stefan and I see that art every time we come.”
“Clearly you don’t come and visit us very often,” I replied. “The festival takes place once a year — on your birthday.”
“On my birthday?”
“Or thereabouts,” I replied. “Actually on Memorial Day weekend,” I thought.
“Hrmph,” Mitra retorted.
“The chalk drawings are temporary, Mitra. They disappear when it rains.”
“It doesn’t rain very often.”
“That’s true. ‘Temporary’ can be a long time.” I concluded.
We enjoyed the art and the adjacent street market food and wine offerings. I was walking Arrow, a lad who attracts attention with his mustache pacifier.
“That is so cute,” a local lady told me. “What’s his name?”
“Arrow,” I replied.
“Arrow?”
“My daughter is a millennial.”
“Ah! Gender neutral names.”
“It’s a new world. But this little guy demanded the mustache pacifier, so he’s sure about his sexuality.”
That evening we went to Lure, a seafood restaurant, for the birthday bash. In preparation, Nazy made a cake. Tiger was thrilled except..
“I want to eat it all before dinner.” He explained.
“The cake is for after dinner,” Nazy replied. “You can’t eat it all. It’s Mitra’s birthday cake. I will make a car birthday cake for you — when it is your birthday.”
“I want this cake. I want all of this cake. I don’t want a cake on my birthday.”
“But your cake will be chocolate. You like chocolate.”
“Mitra can have a chocolate car cake. I will take this vanilla cake. All of this cake. I want to eat all of it before dinner.”
And so the conversation continued as we drove to the restaurant. (It wasn’t easy to change the subject while Nazy had the birthday cake on her lap.) I dropped her off at the restaurant door and then drove off to locate a very remote parking place.
“Would you like to help me park the car?” I asked — to an enthusiastic reception.
I stopped the car, took Tiger out of the car seat, placed him on my lap and had him help me maneuver into a parking spot. Then he opened the sunroof, turned on the windshield washers, reprogrammed the satellite radio, made sure the electric door locks were functional, checked the high beams and attempted to call road side assistance.
“Perhaps Ive successfully distracted him,” I thought as we walked toward the entrance.
“Who’s birthday is it?” Tiger asked as we walked in.
The dinner went well and when they brought the cake (and candles), Tiger ‘helped’ Mitra blow them out. Then, before anyone could react, he jammed his fork into the cake, pulled out a chunk and…. offered it to Mitra.
The Family responded with stunned silence followed by a hearty cheer.
The next morning, before leaving, Mitra joined us at Arrow’s Music Class. There is a segment where the adults dance with the toddlers. As you can imagine, Mitra, considerably more polished and smooth of movement than me, volunteered to dance with Arrow. He had a great time.
There are rumors of momentous events taking place in the Middle East — specifically Beirut, Lebanon. More on that next week.
For last week's letter, please click here
Another chalk Drawing
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