Upon arrival I sent my wife the requisite flix-message (the Verizon Wireless version of a video message) with my daughter prancing around baggage claim and me providing narration, then we (my mom came along to offer me moments of respite here and there) gathered our bags, the car seat, and my girl and headed out to the rainy traffic loop, where my aunt picked us up shortly after.
It was raining cats and dogs in Minneapolis when we arrived, and I feared that weather.com had failed me when it told me to pack for warmth. We headed northwest to Big Sandy Lake, where my aunt has a cabin, and about half-way there the clouds broke and we realized things would be alright.
We got to the cabin at around 6pm, just in time for dinner. From the entry, the cabin looked cabin-ish. Appeared to be single-floor, small deck, not huge by any means. Inside I realized it was more of a forest paradise. Two floors, vaulted ceilings, huge picture windows overlooking the lake...it was beautiful.
So, we settled in for the night, I got the girl to sleep, and my mom and myself enjoyed sipping adult beverages and catching up with my aunt and her husband. In the back of my mind, I dreaded the next day, because I knew I needed to get to work on preparing myself for a trial on Monday, which is always the best way to spend a few days off.
We woke up Friday and, after breakfast, went for a ride on my aunt's party barge. At first, my daughter wanted to captain the ship, but we convinced her otherwise and she decided to join me in sitting in the sun, enjoying the warm-ish air running past us as we rounded the lake.
We headed out, and then I finally got a chance to take the whole "cabin" in.
My daughter and I settled up front. She alternated between sitting on my lap (mostly so she could get the Goldfish crackers I had stashed away for her)...
...and walking to the front of the boat to see what was ahead and point out each and every single bird in the tri-county area.
After a couple of hours rounding the lake, we went back to the cabin. My daughter took her nap, and I got to work on reading depositions and hating this part of life. My cell phone, which got horrible service throughout my time in that particular area of the state, told me around 2pm that I had a voice message. I went out on the deck, located the 3 square-inch area where I could get a signal, and listened with glee to the news that my case had settled and I could therefore actually vacation. I cracked open a celebratory can of Diet Coke and added it to some celebratory whiskey, atop some very jubilant ice.
That night we had a fish fry and stayed up late watching various poker shows on the sports networks. I'd never realized how interesting watching poker can be. I don't think it justifies the whole trend towards whole giant blocks of card-playing television, but it did keep me entertained for an hour or so.
Saturday, the main event. My grandfather, who is 80 years-old and not horribly likely to see many more birthdays, was driven up to meet his great grand-daughter. If my dad were still alive, this would be a 4-generation picture. As it is, it'll have to do.
I was very happy that he had a chance to meet my girl. She was, predictably, frightened of him the whole time, but at least some day I'll be able to tell her that she met him.
After lunch and some general BS-ing around the living room, my grandfather and his wife left and we packed our things to go. A two-hour drive down to White Bear Lake, an ordered pizza, and an early bed-time awaited us, as Sunday would start early.
On Sunday we were due to be on our plane at 10:30. We couldn't leave without first visiting with my father's oldest, bestest friend, and so we had breakfast at a delightful place called the Highland Grill. My dad's friend is a writer, director, and producer of plays based in the Twin Cities, but also several traveling shows. Apparently, he's known as "The Brian Dennehy of Italy," which strikes me as being something about as ambiguous as being the Viggo Mortensen of South Korea or The Goo Goo Dolls of Lisbon. Not sure exactly what it means, but as I mentioned to him in an e-mail today, it must be a compliment by whoever came up with it.
This fellow also happened to know my mother well, as my mother met my dad at college, where he'd previously met his friend, and the three of them got along famously. Which was all good, because while he and my mom primarily drove the conversation I was able to try to convince my daughter to eat some of her french toast. Of course, at 7:30am Minnesota time, we were still at least an hour ahead of her normal wake-up time, so she wasn't really too interested.
The most interesting part of the whole conversation was something I either never knew or completely forgot about. My dad was a paralegal at a local law firm (which shall remain nameless) here in Portland when he died, unexpectedly, in 1991. Many of the lawyers from the firm turned up at the funeral, which was all well and good because my dad was something of an office clown and had entertained many people there with his various jokes (I still hear from people every now and then who see my name in law-related stuff, and they all universally tell me how much fun my dad was to have around).
Anyway, apparently, many of these lawyers were making the rounds after the service, in the reception area, and were going to great lengths to tell everyone that I wouldn't ever need to worry about college, because they were going to set up a fund for me to pay for my schooling since my dad wouldn't be able to help.
Predictably, nothing ever came of it. I racked up $120k in student loans (the principal of which I've barely dented) and, when I sought an internship (and, later, a job as a lawyer) with my dad's old firm, was never even offered a courtesy interview (which I'd only expect if I'd recalled the empty promises that had been made 50 feet from my father's corpse by his alleged friends).
Of course, I'm powerless to do anything about this. I can't bring it up with anybody, because at this stage in the game I have to worry more about alienating future contacts and burning bridges I'm not even close to crossing than about some broken promise to a high school kid. But my dad's friend was repulsed to hear that none of my schooling had been payed for by these people, and so apparently he's going to send them a nasty-gram, which is fine with me.
Armed with that knowledge, we headed to the airport. While waiting in line, my daughter accidentally poked me in the eye, and somehow managed to scratch my cornea with her finger nails. Unpleasant, to say the least. I think this was in retaliation for the Baby Benadryl I'd just spiked her with. Whatever caused her to lash out in such a vicious manner, the upshot was me, walking around like a patchless pirate for 5 hours between two airports and on two planes as my eye throbbed and my nose ran (due to an unfortunate combination of over-active allergies and a constant stream of tears in my left eye that contributed to my post-nasal drip). By the time we got to Portland, I was able to open my eye, but my vision was extremely blurred for the remainder of the day, and is better-but-not-completely-back even now.
So, my vacation was complete. And now, a new one begins in just a couple of days. Thursday we head off to the Golden Bear State. I'll make sure to tell Arnold hi for you.
No comments:
Post a Comment