"Lunch? Noon. Love, Dad."
That's all the email read. Luckily, I knew lunch our usual lunch location: the family pub on the lake. This particular fall day, I arrived first. I got a table but rather than shivering at the sight of the white caps, I flagged down the waitress. I put in our drinks order, a root beer for me and an iced tea for Dad. I then confided in her and shared a secret.
"It's his birthday," I whispered, pointing to the seat where my father would sit at some point. She nodded and disappeared.
"You beat me here! First time in your life," Dad teased about my punctuality. I'm never later than a minute or two, but our restaurant is a few blocks from his office and fifteen minutes from our house. Combine that with the fact that I was a college student home on fall break who'd rather be in bed at noon and you tell me who's going to arrive first.
We enjoyed our meal and as we finished up, I heard the maracas in the kitchen. I bit my lip as to not spill my own beans. I didn't think I was successful, but I still enjoyed the look on Dad's face when they serenaded him and placed an ice cream dessert in front of him. I "got him" and got a good laugh.
As we were walking out we walked past his former secretary who happened to be having lunch with some friends. "Now wait a second. Your birthday's in June," she puzzled with a smile. It was October. A girl's got to do what a girl's got to do.
Dad is notorious for taking his "four girls" (my two sisters, my mom, and me) out for our birthdays, sneaking around the restaurant, and surprising us with a birthday serenade and free cake. We all hate it. We all love it. As we've gotten wiser, so has Dad. Since he's not allowed to leave the table during dinner, he's hired accomplices. We know what restaurants will participate in this tomfoolery, and we've been known to sing ourselves in those that don't. We've decided to bypass this mortifying tradition and enjoy a peaceful birthday dinner at home instead. My birthday's in early August, and I make sure we eat every meal at home from late July until mid August. You just never know when it's going to be your birthday TODAY!
Sure, we've turned it around on him a time or two. Like when we went out on Christina's birthday but told the waitress it was Dad's birthday instead. Or the time we made him wear the menu on his head while they serenaded Mom. But that's what's go great about the October celebration: it was just a taste of his own medicine and he had no idea it was coming. Not going to lie, I was pretty proud of myself and I did wish the rest of the family could have been there to see it. Oh, well. Maybe tonight we'll go out for lemon marang pie.
Happy birthday, Freddy Buttless. I love you more than the grains of sand all mushed together. Love, Sandi Beech.
<>< Katie
Showing posts with label restaurant. Show all posts
Showing posts with label restaurant. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Pageant Prayer
Remember from last week the Post-It notes in bathrooms and the idea that the strive for beauty should not consume your every being? I wish I could have printed that blog and have a handwritten Post-It to give to every girl in this hotel.
This past weekend my grandma, two aunts, mother, sister, and I had a Girls' Weekend. As we enjoyed our pasta dinner late on Saturday night, there were two tables occupied in the entire restaurant. Ours, the six of us in comfortable clothes, minimal make-up, and freshly pedicured toes. And theirs, the beauty queens dressed to the hilt competing in a teen pageant and their accompanying flamboyant male friends.
Despite both being tables primarily filled with women, there were striking differences between the two. We discussed frivolous things like butt germs, pit chips, the history of deodorant, and doofus-ness. They discussed important matters, reapplied make-up, and nodded politely to one another. We waiting patiently for the waitress before we ordered our traditional trip diet of pancakes and pasta; they chased her down before having a special request with every order. My grandmother chastised me for my poor posture and flat hair; every detail of these women was scrutinized.
Every time I glanced towards their table I saw the same thing: a plastered smile flanked by over-treated hair. However, in one girl in particular did not seem to follow the trend. Rather, beneath the layers of make-up, her face showed defeat, exhaustion, and sadness.
Excuse me, ma'am, I said to her in my head. Your fake-smile is accompanied by a deep sadness in your eyes. You're trying to hide it under all of those layers of make-up, but you're not successful.
In the conversation in my mind, the sad girl explained she'd just lost the tiara. It seemed plausible. Maybe she'd risked everything to be here once more before she out-grew the age bracket and led the stiff competition before losing the tiara at the last final moment. Except it led me to wonder if others were more successful in hiding behind their facades. Was it possible that all of these girls were screaming for help?
A few summers ago, I worked with several pageant girls. I heard them talk about the rigors of their chosen lifestyle. They eat, sleep, and breathe pageants; most of them love it. The strict diet, the close relationships with their tailor, and the drama all included. It blows my mind. Knowing how self-conscious I became merely sharing a hotel restaurant with these pageant people I cannot imagine the pressure required to sit at that table. Those high heels hurt my feet, and I’m not even wearing them.
That does not mean I look down my nose at them in disgust.
Pageant girls, I admire your dedication. Your willingness to sacrifice everything to fulfill a dream.
I want that.
Except I don’t want my goal to be a diamond-filled tiara. Rather, I want six simple words. “Well done, good and faithful servant.”
<>< Katie
PS: What's a Girls' Weekend without a good quote?
Grandma: These pancakes that look like eyes would be really good for if you have a hangover. You're eating breakfast, and they're staring back at you.
Aunt: Yeah, throw some tabasco sauce on them and it's like looking in a mirror!
This past weekend my grandma, two aunts, mother, sister, and I had a Girls' Weekend. As we enjoyed our pasta dinner late on Saturday night, there were two tables occupied in the entire restaurant. Ours, the six of us in comfortable clothes, minimal make-up, and freshly pedicured toes. And theirs, the beauty queens dressed to the hilt competing in a teen pageant and their accompanying flamboyant male friends.
Despite both being tables primarily filled with women, there were striking differences between the two. We discussed frivolous things like butt germs, pit chips, the history of deodorant, and doofus-ness. They discussed important matters, reapplied make-up, and nodded politely to one another. We waiting patiently for the waitress before we ordered our traditional trip diet of pancakes and pasta; they chased her down before having a special request with every order. My grandmother chastised me for my poor posture and flat hair; every detail of these women was scrutinized.
Every time I glanced towards their table I saw the same thing: a plastered smile flanked by over-treated hair. However, in one girl in particular did not seem to follow the trend. Rather, beneath the layers of make-up, her face showed defeat, exhaustion, and sadness.
Excuse me, ma'am, I said to her in my head. Your fake-smile is accompanied by a deep sadness in your eyes. You're trying to hide it under all of those layers of make-up, but you're not successful.
In the conversation in my mind, the sad girl explained she'd just lost the tiara. It seemed plausible. Maybe she'd risked everything to be here once more before she out-grew the age bracket and led the stiff competition before losing the tiara at the last final moment. Except it led me to wonder if others were more successful in hiding behind their facades. Was it possible that all of these girls were screaming for help?
A few summers ago, I worked with several pageant girls. I heard them talk about the rigors of their chosen lifestyle. They eat, sleep, and breathe pageants; most of them love it. The strict diet, the close relationships with their tailor, and the drama all included. It blows my mind. Knowing how self-conscious I became merely sharing a hotel restaurant with these pageant people I cannot imagine the pressure required to sit at that table. Those high heels hurt my feet, and I’m not even wearing them.
That does not mean I look down my nose at them in disgust.
Pageant girls, I admire your dedication. Your willingness to sacrifice everything to fulfill a dream.
I want that.
Except I don’t want my goal to be a diamond-filled tiara. Rather, I want six simple words. “Well done, good and faithful servant.”
<>< Katie
PS: What's a Girls' Weekend without a good quote?
Grandma: These pancakes that look like eyes would be really good for if you have a hangover. You're eating breakfast, and they're staring back at you.
Aunt: Yeah, throw some tabasco sauce on them and it's like looking in a mirror!
Friday, January 1, 2010
Christina and the Country Club
Birthday blog time!
While I was growing up, my dad had a membership to a country club near his office. Very rarely did we take advantage of the pool or tennis courts, but we ate a lot of meals in the restaurant. We'd have special daddy-daughter dates and go to the country club. Due to its close proximity to his office, he ate lunch there enough to to know the wait staff. When my sisters or I were with him, he always took great pride in introducing us to all of his friends.
One day when Christina was probably five or six it was her turn to go out to lunch with Dad, so he took her to the country club. She read through the menu and couldn't find anything she wanted. This was new for Dad because I always order a BLT and Laura has a regular dish, too. Well, Dad offered suggestions and nothing seemed appetizing for Christina. When the waitress came out to take their order Christina looked up at her with a serious face and asked, "Can I have French Toast?"
It's hard to embarrass my dad, but Christina's really good at it. On this particular day, she ate French Toast at the country club and was invited back into the kitchen to give her complements to the chef.
Happy birthday to the girl who ordered and ate French Toast at the country club.
Happy birthday to the girl who got in Mark Schultz's the Meet & Greet line five times until he remembered her.
Happy birthday to the girl who wanted to be a doctor until she discovered it involved science and then decided she wanted to be a marine biologist.
Happy birthday to the girl who made Mom fall flat on her face because Christina was on a leash and ran full-speed across Sea World to see the sharks.
Happy birthday to the girl who two different colored eyes.
Happy birthday to the girl who thought I mowed the grass last week (in the snow).
Happy birthday to the girl who's favorite hobby is driving me nuts.
Happy birthday, Teeny Tiny Girl.
<>< Katie
While I was growing up, my dad had a membership to a country club near his office. Very rarely did we take advantage of the pool or tennis courts, but we ate a lot of meals in the restaurant. We'd have special daddy-daughter dates and go to the country club. Due to its close proximity to his office, he ate lunch there enough to to know the wait staff. When my sisters or I were with him, he always took great pride in introducing us to all of his friends.
One day when Christina was probably five or six it was her turn to go out to lunch with Dad, so he took her to the country club. She read through the menu and couldn't find anything she wanted. This was new for Dad because I always order a BLT and Laura has a regular dish, too. Well, Dad offered suggestions and nothing seemed appetizing for Christina. When the waitress came out to take their order Christina looked up at her with a serious face and asked, "Can I have French Toast?"
It's hard to embarrass my dad, but Christina's really good at it. On this particular day, she ate French Toast at the country club and was invited back into the kitchen to give her complements to the chef.
Happy birthday to the girl who ordered and ate French Toast at the country club.
Happy birthday to the girl who got in Mark Schultz's the Meet & Greet line five times until he remembered her.
Happy birthday to the girl who wanted to be a doctor until she discovered it involved science and then decided she wanted to be a marine biologist.
Happy birthday to the girl who made Mom fall flat on her face because Christina was on a leash and ran full-speed across Sea World to see the sharks.
Happy birthday to the girl who two different colored eyes.
Happy birthday to the girl who thought I mowed the grass last week (in the snow).
Happy birthday to the girl who's favorite hobby is driving me nuts.
Happy birthday, Teeny Tiny Girl.
<>< Katie
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)