I did something I rarely do: I took the kids out for dinner tonight. Just the five of us. Heh.
Willow walked in and past the hostess, right up to a tiny little booth meant for two people and slid onto the seat. "Boof!" she proclaimed. "I sit at boof!"
I wasn’t kidding when I said rarely, and I have no clue where she learned this restaurant lingo. I was amused.
Since there were no boofs big enough for us in the front of the place, we got a whole room to ourselves. Of course, that was a good thing, even though the kids were fairly well behaved.
I guess all the recent directives from the media to EAT FISH have sunk into my noggin. I had fish and chips, which I *knew* even before ordering was not wise. It was greasy and disgusting and I loved every bite, but now here it is 11:25 pm and I’m hanging out with my friend, Mylanta. Eh, whatever.
Today marked another anniversary of the ’89 earthquake. I remember it very very well, as I was nearly buried alive in vino. I was in the narrowest little pantry space (fivish feet wide, about eight feet deep) at the restaurant where I worked for forever, and I was doing a wine inventory. There were empty bottles at my feet, and rows and rows of full bottles on shelves going up the three walls well over my head. (If you’ve ever met me, you know that’s not so high. Also, if you have ever met me and you are laughing: shut up.)
I heard the quake before I felt it, but since I’m a Texan originally, I didn’t figure it out till I FELT it. I headed for the door, and was promptly knocked off my feet. I scrambled outside to find Sylvia hugging a tiny little baby tree and sobbing, "My baby, my baby," over and over. Her baby was at home with her mother (or someone family) in their third-floor apartment. I was barely 19 at the time, and if you want to go by maturity, I wasn’t 19 until I was closer to 30. So, while I stood there, shakily, feeling bad for her, I didn’t DO anything for her. Cell phones weren’t so commonplace then, and of course the phones weren’t working, so I couldn’t help her in practical ways like that, but I could have comforted her. I didn’t. I was too freaked out by how upset she was. Now I look back at it and I can only imagine how frightened she must have been, how shocked.
The thing that stood out most, though, is that now that baby she was crying for is an 18-year-old woman.
That one just floored me. It really wasn’t that long ago, was it? Anyhow, if I had that moment to do over, I’d like to be more helpful, even if I just held her hand and didn’t say a word.
We tease my Dad, whenever we have ever gone out to eat, he insists on a boof. It’s prompted a lot of mockery but I hate to tell him that deep down I agree-boofs are better.
Boof. That just kills me.
Oh fish and chips. I swear, that was the best part of my trip to London. That and the used book shops.