The grandboys are journeying home from Small Town Upstate NY today. Soon I will know whether anyone panicked, when the door to the runway gaped open. I will know whether a person can breathe in Charlotte on the last day of June, descending an achingly hot runway into an icily air conditioned holding pen. Why does an airline make you fly 1000 miles east in order to go west? Why are there no direct flights from Syracuse to SF? Tell me why and why, as Woody Guthrie sings.
I think they had a good time. No one indicated any different. They caught fireflys and swam in the pond and probably got to drive the rider mower. They were fed according to their limitations, which probably meant lots of delicious desserts and a sprinkling of salad.
Well, when the Man's kid was spending half his time with us, before he decided that drugs played him a more compelling tune than food and shelter and we were foolish old people who couldn't possibly imagine what his stressful life was like, thus we needed to be neutralized, food was An Issue. His meal of choice featured either pesto spaghetti or a steak burrito. Now, age 28, he is a gourmet cook, capable of producing all sorts of subtle and surprising food combinations to delight and amaze his friends and family. He also likes us. Blink and things change. In principle, I support that.
So, even though the grands do not, at this time, venture far from pasta and cheese or cheese and pasta with a little bread on the side, it is just possible that they might get to feeling a hankering to branch out. Try a little sauteed spinach. Munch a portabella. Barbecue some corn. They have been actively discouraged from taking risks of any kind but now they're a few steps out into the world. OMG! Hope I'm there.
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