I am at Dad’s. The drive here was, well, not stellar. I bought these tiny little speakers and hooked them up to my MP3/CD player, which I have just named Iris, thinking I could listen to that on my ride. I also bought 8 D batteries and threw them into my old CD “boombox” (can I still call it a boombox and not be recalled into the 80s?) in case Iris didn’t work out. Well, thanks to fabulous Kansas winds roaring past my usually-pretty-quiet car, I couldn’t hear the music over the wind noise — and an incident with an ambulance approaching from behind earlier in the day had scared me off of using my headphones. So I went to plan B, for BoomBox, forgetting that my sister and her boyfriend took it out on their summer of painting fun last year, resulting in a) a broken CD player and b) a broken-off radio attenna. Picture, if you will, me, cruising down thankfully-straight I-70 at 75 m.p.h., in considerable wind, with one hand firmly clamped on the steering wheel and the other positioned just so on the BoomBox so that I could literally serve as a human radio antenna in order to pick up NPR. That lasted for about 45 minutes, after which time I just started talking to myself. I was cracking myself up trying to remember the words to “I Am The One And Only” by Jesus Jones for a good 5 miles.
Anyway, here I am. A full cooker of Bolognese spaghetti sauce has been started and is making the whole house smell fabulous. Dad and I talked about the possibility of my trip to Italy and many things in the coming years — when I say we talked, mostly it was Dad talking, after drinking half a bottle of wine on top of a considerable amount of liquor, about the future, his plans, his retirement, where he went wrong before, and what I need to be considering for my own future and retirement. Very interesting to peek inside his mind like that, but I still think his ultimate happy plan for me would be a life in which my husband would make a crapload of money and I’d sit happily at home, visiting him often to cook and eat together. Wait, I think I might like that, too.
By far, the funniest part of the night: Dad is really upset by the break up of Ken and Barbie, or he was until Jen and I pointed out that they weren’t married. Dad: “That son-of-a-bitch.”