Isn’t He Something?

 

42 and a Few Weeks

Dave turned forty-two recently. Over a month ago in fact. And I meant to post this picture, taken after the Solana Beach Triathlon but the month kind of got away with us.

Tau and I made him a birthday cake and we had a nice dinner and our last bottle of Blackenbrook Sauv Blanc, bought at the small winery next to the cottage we stayed at near Nelson, NZ, last December.

At one point during the birthday festivities, Dave muttered under his breath about how freaking old 42 was. And I smiled, because getting older is the last thing I think of when it comes to my husband.

Consider that he and his triathlon mates came third in their category (Mens Relay), even though yes, he was the oldest member of his team and he doesn’t get out on his bike to train as often as he’d like.

Consider, though, that he does makes it a priority to cycle to work twice a week and get out on a Sunday morning to ride 25 to 40 miles along the coast.

And consider — not that I’m biased, noooooo! — that he still has the body (if not the energy … thanks Tau!) that he had in his twenties.

Dave also recently took a wine appreciation course and got excited all over again about the grape. He’s now a fundi on the subtleties of wines from countries we’d never tried and varietals we’d avoided — gasp! — even Chardonnays! Every night or two now it’s a new wine and we go through the paces — holding the glass up against a white background to appreciate the color, the paler meniscus, swirling it to observe the legs and guess at the alcohol content. And then sniffing the bouquet, lightly sipping and letting it roll in our mouths. Yes, we’re learning wine all over again.

If this is forty-two, it ain’t so bad!

Also wanted to post this one
of Dave in the early 70s.
Cute, huh?

The faded original is here … enhanced using Picnik.

Thrill Seeker

This morning, Tau spotted a picture of people coming down a rollercoaster, hair whipping in the wind, mouths open screaming. And of course, “What it is, Mommy?” and “Why?”

And now I’ve learned the shortest path to a satisfactory answer.

YouTube.

So when we got downstairs for breakfast, I plopped him in front of the computer with his Raisin Bran and played a selection of home-made rollercoaster movies.

The first few freaked him out a bit with people screaming and the loud racket of the cars on the tracks, so I searched “rollercoaster kids” instead and found some dragon-shaped coasters on gently undulating tracks with happy music and kids smiling.

He watched them for a while, and when I clicked on more of the same, he said after a few seconds, “Mommy, I don’t like this one … is got music … I like to have one wif screaming!”

Curity and Pilar

Not “To infinity and beyond!” Or so our son insists.

August

I just had my pronunciation corrected by a two-year-old.

Muttering to himself, I hear him talking about days of the week and August. They discuss the day, date and month every day at MY NEW SCHOOL.

“Did you say August, Tau?”

“Is not August … is August.”

I’m a bit slow on the uptake. “Did you say it’s August?” I’m all impressed that he’s remembered the name of the month after only hearing it once on Friday the first.

With a touch of annoyance in his voice … “You don’t say Orgust … is Aahgust.”

“Oh!… Aahgust!?”

“Yes — is August.”

I stand corrected.