This is what one sees when, working out on the elliptical trainer at the Y, assiduously reading the May 9 New Yorker, one looks up, on some unexplainable whim, at the television. One is assaulted by several waves: The ceaseless capital letters of closed captioning; the faux shock of this sentence, since the man in question appears to be a typical high school jock turned flabby couch potato; and the way one finds it difficult to stop reading the closed captioning when one knows one should. Just something addictive about reading Jerry Springer dialogue in bald capital letters . . . the desperation, the opportunism, the tawdriness of it all . . . back to that article about Alvin Ailey.
The in-law visit is proceeding well. I don't have much privacy, so blogging when they are around is out of the question. Much of the furniture I got from my Dad has been mended, window boxes are repaired and rebuilt, light fixtures have been hung. Grammy has given the boys many treats and a few new toys and I have been called mean. Grammy and Grandpa watched Jack's "Developmental Baseball I" practice yesterday. John took Jack's training wheels off his bike and he rode halfway around the track at the local school.
My dad came over for dinner last night. I like for him to spend time with John's parents. My dad was amazed at how easily the rickety furniture could be repaired. My family usually just lives with quirks and irritations instead of trying to fix them. I grilled some fresh yellowfin tuna and we had that on a cous-cous salad with mint, lemon, spring onions, Kalamata olives, and capers. The mint was from our garden. For dessert I made an angel food cake from scratch using powdered egg whites that you reconstitute with water. It wasn't nearly as high as the angel food cakes my grandmother made, but then she used mixes. It was delicious with strawberries. A wonderful low-fat dinner. Pat me on the back!
Yesterday afternoon we were going to go to a historic house a mile from us that we've never been to, but it was closed for a private function. There used to be a quarry by this house, which closed a half century ago. The fieldstone on our house came from that quarry, according to the all-knowing neighbor Hazel. I love the stone with its myriad shades of gray, gold, and rust.
The whole family is going to church (we go to church in Germantown) this morning, and afterwards we are going to a Mother's Day brunch (which I arranged, of course) at the Valley Green Inn, in the middle of Fairmount Park, the largest city park in the world, so eat your heart out, New York. I find some of the Inn's FAQs to be rather amusing.