My kind of tea party

Splendiferous Sunday. Visited my mom in the morning and showed her the cruise pics on my iPhone. She enjoyed seeing the ship, and the family, then she started drifting off a little after I'd flicked through about 60 of them. I'd forgotten just how many photos I took with the iPhone, and realized that she's doing exactly what I'd WANT to do if I were in her shoes. Sixty pics is enough to make anyone's eyes glaze over. Those of you old enough to remember sitting in a living room watching slide shows can appreciate the true meaning of patience. Back during the age of naugahide and hi-low carpets, slide shows were often used as gentle cues to friends and relatives that you felt were visiting your home too often. From a kid's point of view, the shows were utter torture. The thick layer of smoke forced you to snatch a couch cushion and stay close to the floor. Uncle Carl spent half an hour fiddling with the Kodak Carousel, reloading the slides so at least one-third of them were right-side-up, then we'd wait as he took a break to refill his scotch and grab another deviled egg. Finally, when the rest of the adults in the room were sufficiently snockered, the show began. Prior to digital cameras, photography was an investment. You had to purchase a roll of film, and then pay for developing.  I can't think of any other phrase in the consumer world that so well defines the idiom "they get ya comin' and goin.'" These revolving expenses lead to keeping many photos that today would be deleted without hesitation. This also meant that slide shows sometimes lasted until dawn, including the drink breaks and the progressively-slurred narration. So mom - no problem if your gaze shifts from my iPhone to the Food Network in the background - I've been there too.

Sunday afternoon brought a blissful nap, then Juliana approached me, "“Dad I'm bored; I want to do something with you."” Touching, but I read the sub-text. “"Hmmmm… so you're looking for me to find something for us to do together so you're no longer bored?"” Pause. "“Yeah, I guess,”" she said. “"Want to clean your room? That's not boring,"” I said. "“C'mon dad."” We ended up having tea together on the front patio. I spread out a sheet and emptied a can of Diet Coke into her plastic tea pot. She did the honors of pouring, and then brought out the plastic cupcakes and cookies for us to enjoy. “Ummmm. . .” I said. “ Cracker Jack might hit the spot too - don't you think?” She ran inside and grabbed two boxes from the pantry, scampered back.

I told her about how there used to be little toys inside the boxes, rings, assorted plastic figurines, cars, planes. She opened her prize and read me the jokes; we agreed they were pretty lame. I Poured the rest of the “tea and then mentioned that I had to get the RoundUp out and spray the weeds that were peaking up between the patio stones. Explained to her how RoundUp isn't poison, and how it kills weeds by starving them from the inside out. She made a face that told me she understood, but didn't approve. We sprayed the weeds together, she pointing them out to me, and I blasted them. Then we noticed in the far corner a seven foot tall weed that had somehow escaped our radar. This one was in the rose garden, and was some sort of mutant rose shoot - a “sucker” I believe they're called. We sprayed it and decided this would be the true test of RoundUp. If it could kill a weed bigger than me in seven days, it deserves everything it claims.  To that end, we agreed another tea and weed-check should be scheduled for next week as well. Stay tuned for next Sunday's weed update.

Links Galore!


Posterous - Trying to see if there's a limit to how many pages they'll give me for free. Tons of new pics there
(almost) daily.

HiFiCollector - Your one-stop-shop for all your vintage stereo gawking.