Monday, 7 September 2009

chicken wing magic

Ive already written about the magic of chicken soup, and if you didnt read it, start backpeddling.

In case you havent noticed, Ive been whining like a notre dame fan about "strength of schedule" points, regarding my life lately.

Nothing specific, really.

My boss is nuts, the clients are nuts, my wife is nuts, and oh yeah, I'm nuts too.

Other than that, its all good.

The kids arent nuts though.

They know EXACTLY what they're doing, and ITS all bad, and on purpose.

Other than THAT, its all good.

So I'm trudging through another day in paradise, with little but memories of weekend ice cream to cheer me up, and then I get a call.

My college aged daughter, whom I havent seen in a month or two, is home for a visit.

After passing out the usual scoldings, beatings, and frownations upon coming home, I shower up and ask my visiting oldest if shed like to go for a ride with me. Shes been with the little kids for an hour at least, so naturally she says "SURE!"

So she accompanies me to the luxurious barber shop where she is treated to a fascinating exchange of talk of weather, deer antlers, and work.

Then its gets good.

After getting my (distinguished with just the right amount of gray) hair cut, we go out for wings.

Nothing extravagent, just wings and beer.

Sounds like a date night on the country channel, huh?

Its not that we or she solved the problems of the day, or the universe, its that it was different, that it was good. That it was nice.

Nice is nice, I've already written that.

Its like a well timed hug. Not going to change the universe's direction, but it sure is welcome at the right time.

Just enough to change your outlook, your view, your disposition, even your despondency.

I suppose you could classify it as a "little thing" of life. Something to appreciate, something to remember.

The wings are almost always good, but who you have them with makes all the difference.

Like a campfire.

I cant imagine that as a parent I'm the only one, who while sitting across a table from an (almost) grown up child, the mind races from babyhood to beer and boyfriend talk, in every conversation.

Maybe I am. Maybe its the whole adult A.D.D. thing going on.

Lucky me.

1 comment:

  1. That's great that your daughter suprised you. Good times are spent in good company. I sent you an email.