Sunday, June 18, 2006

Papas & Beer

Such is the name of a frequently patronized Tiajuana bar for the under age crowd. I used to go when I was 19... when one beer would knock me on my ass. (Obviously not much has changed.) Papas and beer was also the theme of this afternoon's Father Day extravaganza.

Like a vulture wrenching its rabbit dinner out of its mouth, I reluctantly (one might say heroically) let go of a three day grudge I was harboring against Rex for various infractions (the minor being not putting his plate away after dinner, the major being forgetting to entertain me on a 24 hour basis and sending me a singing telegram from Josh Grodin with the hand written words, You are my favorite kind of nut, you wipe all my childrens' butts, I want you on the Oprah show, next to Nate Berkus all aglow....)

Rex is an amazing father, so along with his dad, mom, sister, sister's husband, Stink and Pip, we clinked sippy cups and margaritas, beer bottles and baby bottles, a few martini glasses (Oh yeah, Stella came, too) and fired up the ol' bbq.

It was summer.

It was breezy.

There were grass stained kids and a blow-up elephant pool.

There was country music blasting through strategically placed speakers on the back porch (My husband's doing, of course. We don't have curtains, but we have aqarium size speakers that could take out a small dog. Or an unsuspecting squirrel.) The music was loud enough that even if Josh Grodin did make a visit to my cul de sac, I wouldn't have been able to hear him over the classic... I got blamed at your wedding reception, for your best man's embarassing speech, and also for those naked pictures of you at the beach...

It was heaven - which, as a waffling Christian, I am more and more considering as a viable residence some day. I mean, if it is about location, location, location, I know where I'd want to be, and it looked like this evening.

In closing, an amazing discovery was made in my backyard. No, you won't hear on the news that an ancient bison skull was found in the San Fernando Valley, but it's close. As it turns out, the elephant pool has the capacity to be hooked onto a hose, causing an Old Faithful type spout to rise like a phoenix out of its plastic trunk - proving once again that cheap, not chic, is not only fun and fabulous, but ever the surprise.... kind of like Rex (who decided yesterday to attempt not to nag so much and instead give me daily compliments, such as (Cue robotic tape recording) "You are a very beautiful woman." It was so sweet to hear him tell me this in the moon light, next to the dirty dishes, him smelling of yard and garden work, but so hard not to laugh.)

Happy Father's Day, Papa.

No comments: