Lovin' my momanym.

My parents visited the Bay Area this weekend. They came out here to visit me (of course) and also to go with me to the wedding of a childhood friend and Nashville native in Healdsburg, California (Sonoma County). Sarah’s childhood and family history is, well, Faulknerian in its complexities and dramas. But many of the adults who took the role of parent in her life were on hand to attend, so there were my parents’ friends as well as my own in town for the event.

It was a beautiful weekend and perfect for a wine-country wedding. I love my parents and really enjoy their company—we had a wonderful time together. Sometimes when we get together in these sorts of settings, I am reminded that I forget how archetypically Southern they/we can be. And that we’re all nuts. I am closer to my mother’s type of crazy than my father’s but still, I have a lot of both. It seemed that every hour I made a mental note to write something down as it was laugh-out-loud funny and great material for the blog and/or novel. But now that I am in front of a computer I cannot for the life of me remember anything specific. It’s hard to pick out of the running sequence of events the particularly crazy/funny ones as when I am in these southern escapades, I lose perspective and it all seems contextually normal. Or, I should say, usual. But Lordy, it’s not. My family, and to some extent our friends, and nuttier than fruitcake. And I happily laughed through the entire weekend.

While I certainly exhibit a lot of my mother’s potentially eccentric behavior (hey—to me this all seems perfectly logical), I am grateful for the consideration of the pleasant detail which I have inherited from my father. I love that my father is the sort of man who packs a sterling silver vase on trips so when he brings the hotel’s continental breakfast to the room, he is able set a table with flowers for his wife. And a handkerchief for a tablecloth. While flowers were not readily available, we made do with the colored tissue from the bride’s welcome bag.





I once packed a surprise picnic dinner complete with flowers, vase, candles, and tablecloth and spread it out in a terminal in the Atlanta airport while on a long layover with Jennifer Caver (then Farnette). My tendency to have these sorts of ideas clearly comes from Papa John. And I thank him for it.


We returned to the City Sunday around five, and while Dad was taking a nap before dinner, Fran and I freshened up and changed our clothes and I was able to take her to Sundance Saloon for an hour of dancing. My mother never ceases to amaze me. Her first time in a gay cowboy bar (I’m trying to think if she has ever even been in any gay bar for that matter) and her first time two-stepping and she was, of course, fabulous. We managed several two-steps, a couple of waltzes, and a swing (and a glass of wine and two mandarin/sodas) before we had to leave to meet Dad for dinner at Zuni. She is such a fabulous dancer she picked up the two-step without dropping a beat. I had told her that I dance so much (and therefore sweat sufficiently) that I take a change of t-shirt or two when I go. She had informed me that she does not perspire (what is that line? “First of all: I do not sweat. I perspire. And second of all: I do not perspire.”). After three dances and a double-time swing, she did however take off her jacket and admitted, “I see what you mean about getting hot.”

Monday was their only day in the City and they had to leave this morning. Unfortunately, Dad was struck debilitatingly ill by either the salmon at Zuni or just some sort of intestinal bug. But he had to spend his only SF day in bed at the Saint Francis. We had planned to let Mom blitz the shops around Union Square while we did father/son square things like ride the cable car and play around Ghirardelli Square. So I shopped, as much as I could stand, with Fran the Man. I got a kick out of inserting between her trips to Nieman’s and Sak’s, a stop into Old Navy. She is so petite the little hip girlie stuff really fit her. Cracked me up.

Even though Dad was pretty much wiped out all day, he rallied for the Meet-and-Greet at the Metro. I small group of my inner-circle friends were able to meet us for an evening cocktail on the balcony. Everyone had a delightful time and I can’t think of a better group of people with which to share my family, the sunset, and a cocktail. And my parents completely held court at the Metro last night.

Fran holding her court:

And c’mon, who cannot be charmed by Papa John?

I am told that meeting my parents for the first time was a complete kick. And, for some reason, it explained a lot about me.

Wonder what they meant by that...