Sophie had her card and present all wrapped and ready, but when she woke up her daddy was on the roof messing with our antenna. The digital conversion has not worked well for us. We have the right tv but lost our favorite morning news and weather channel, and Husband is seriously missing his weather women, Liza and Evelyn. He thought adjusting the antenna might bring them back. (It didn't.)
Sophie thought he needed his gift right away. It did get him off the roof quicker than I have ever been able to.
And he was very happy to open up his new fly rod.
We've since had blueberry pancakes and bacon and a good trail ride on our bikes, even though Sophie had a flat tire three miles out and we didn't have pump that fit her small tire. (She alternated riding on the rim and walking back.)
Sophie and Husband are now at the movies, leaving me home to prepare the Fathers' Day feast:
Smoked trout pate on baguetteThe only thing we will be missing is my dad
Melon, mint, and prosciutto
Roasted duck with port cherry sauce
French green beans with baby shitake mushrooms
Fennel braised in white wine
and mom, since I didn't get to cook her a Mothers' Day dinner either. Why my parents do not pick up and move to Berkeley is beyond me. They'd have ass-kicking dinners every Sunday and would be closer to the mountains for skiing. Seems like a no-brainer to me.
In the meantime, my dad was treated to a phone call, which included the poem Sea Fever by John Masefield read by Sophie. We heard it on A Prairie Home Companion on the way back from our ride this morning, and Sophie recognized it from the Poems and Songs booklet her class used to start every morning this past year at school. Funny thing is, that was a poem my dad helped me choose to memorize and recite in elementary school when I was about Sophie's age. I can remember him showing me how to read it with feeling, which was easy for him because he does love the sea and because he is just like that—a guy with feeling.
Lucky me to have two great dads in my life.