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pegkerrRob and I drove the girls to church music camp where they will spend the next week, happily ensconced in the woods, playing cello and violin and working on producing a musical which will be performed for the parents who come to pick up their kids again next Saturday.
A week without the kids. What will we do with ourselves?
Intoxicated by the idea, at my suggestion, we stopped at the restaurant It's Greek to Me for dinner, chiefly because the horrendous heat and humidity which has been smothering the city for the past week unexpectedly lifted this morning, and such a perfect summer day could best be appreciated and celebrated by dining al fresco in the lovely It's Greek to Me central courtyard. When you are sitting in there, the courtyard fence decked with hanging plants and the music of the fountain makes it easy to forget the traffic on Lake Street and Lyndale Avenue. I felt as if I had been transported back to one of the magical nights twenty-five years ago when I was backpacking across Europe, lingering in one of the little humble family restaurants I found in the back streets of Greece or Italy.
The food was exquisitely delicious. This was not a night where it would be sufficient to order a mere Greek salad, no. One must seize the opportunity to be truly decadent, ordering the Saganaki cheese appetizer, set alight by the server with a cry of "Opa!" and then, after a flourish of juice squeezed from a lemon wedge, set down on the table, sizzling, to be scooped up with pita bread. And eaten with sips of wine and many orgasmic noises. I ordered the lamb kabob and Rob ordered the lemon marinated chicken, and both arrived perfectly cooked, bursting with flavor, nestled in among the rice and potatoes. The sun dipped lower in the sky as we lingered over our meals, and we basked in the warmth, blinking like contented lizards; it was pleasant rather than annoying. We boxed up half the food and brought it home with us; it will make lovely lunches for us tomorrow. I considered dessert, but really, I feared the danger of too much perfection; perhaps I would spontaneously combust from sheer overwhelming pleasure by taking a mere bite of baklava. Better not to risk it.
*Happy sigh* I tucked away into my heart some of the peace I felt, sitting there in that courtyard and holding Rob's hand as we listened to the fountain, to take out and remember on some future day when the world seems cold or lonely.
I hope the rest of the week feels this splendid.
A week without the kids. What will we do with ourselves?
Intoxicated by the idea, at my suggestion, we stopped at the restaurant It's Greek to Me for dinner, chiefly because the horrendous heat and humidity which has been smothering the city for the past week unexpectedly lifted this morning, and such a perfect summer day could best be appreciated and celebrated by dining al fresco in the lovely It's Greek to Me central courtyard. When you are sitting in there, the courtyard fence decked with hanging plants and the music of the fountain makes it easy to forget the traffic on Lake Street and Lyndale Avenue. I felt as if I had been transported back to one of the magical nights twenty-five years ago when I was backpacking across Europe, lingering in one of the little humble family restaurants I found in the back streets of Greece or Italy.
The food was exquisitely delicious. This was not a night where it would be sufficient to order a mere Greek salad, no. One must seize the opportunity to be truly decadent, ordering the Saganaki cheese appetizer, set alight by the server with a cry of "Opa!" and then, after a flourish of juice squeezed from a lemon wedge, set down on the table, sizzling, to be scooped up with pita bread. And eaten with sips of wine and many orgasmic noises. I ordered the lamb kabob and Rob ordered the lemon marinated chicken, and both arrived perfectly cooked, bursting with flavor, nestled in among the rice and potatoes. The sun dipped lower in the sky as we lingered over our meals, and we basked in the warmth, blinking like contented lizards; it was pleasant rather than annoying. We boxed up half the food and brought it home with us; it will make lovely lunches for us tomorrow. I considered dessert, but really, I feared the danger of too much perfection; perhaps I would spontaneously combust from sheer overwhelming pleasure by taking a mere bite of baklava. Better not to risk it.
*Happy sigh* I tucked away into my heart some of the peace I felt, sitting there in that courtyard and holding Rob's hand as we listened to the fountain, to take out and remember on some future day when the world seems cold or lonely.
I hope the rest of the week feels this splendid.
