Flying Sober, or I'd Eat My Nephews

This afternoon, while riding in an airplane sans booze for the first time in Gob knows how long, I reached two very important conclusions. The first conclusion is that I am completely and utterly obsessed with my nephews. The second is that, with the exception of a few uncomfortable minutes toward the end involving Jason Bateman's character and a basement full of comic books, Juno is a perfect film. In regards to the former, Amy Poehler wrote something about her two young sons in her bestselling memoir Yes Please that I'm totally on board with but, like, in terms of my nephews.

These boys, they are delicious. I swear, if I could eat my children, I would. I'd consume them like some beast in a Hieronymus Bosch painting, but in a friendlier, more momlike way. Their little bodies make me salivate. It takes everything I have not to swallow them whole.

Movie Night

After dinner tonight my dad and I drove a mile and a half down the road to the Harbor Cinema, an old two-screen movie theater on Lakeshore Drive, to catch the 8:30 showing of The Intern because my dad hadn't seen it yet and because I wanted to see it again. Truth be told, I liked it even more the second time around and I'm pretty sure that my dad liked it as well because, and he'll kill me for putting this in writing and then sticking it on the World Wide Web, I saw him wipe away a tear when Robert De Niro's character told Ann Hathaway's character about his late wife in the hotel room scene during their business trip to San Francisco. Robert De Niro's character could have been based on my dad. Anyway, while I was sitting there in the dark I realized that the last time that I saw a movie at the Harbor was in 1995, twenty whole years ago. The movie was The Bridges of Madison County and I was with my parents and that's when I learned about Meryl Streep.

The Love Letters, Part One

Last night my dad handed me a Ziploc bag filled to bursting with letters that he and my mom had exchanged while they were dating and oh my stars are they giving me life right now. The letters begin, as far as I can tell, in the fall of 1976 with a three-page missive addressed from my mom's college apartment at Central Michigan University in Mount Pleasant, Michigan to the USS Steinaker, the ship that my dad was stationed on during his time in the Navy. On the back of the first envelope reads "A little sunshine sent your way - - Hope it brightens up your day!" and on the front is a thirteen-cent stamp with a picture of the Liberty Bell on it. In the letter itself my mom talks about apartment living and homework and her intramural softball team, which had just lost their first game twenty-four to one. I wanna go and shake my dad awake right now and ask him the million questions that I've come up with while reading the first dozen or so letters, but that would be nuts so I'm just gonna put my favorite part from the first letter below and pick his brain tomorrow.

I wanted to thank you for a great time when you were home. I haven't done something goofy like that in a long time. I couldn't believe it when you took me and we walked right into that pool. I'll have to say that I didn't get an excess amount of sleep that weekend but it was worth it. Hey - Mark Lambert - you are crazy!

It is so damn cool to read my mom's words and to see how much her scratchy handwriting didn't change throughout her life and to witness my parents' love unfolding. Also, I think it's important to note that today is, or today would have been rather, their thirty-seventh wedding anniversary.