We all took my Dad to Coors Field to see the Mets play the Rockies, in celebration of his 80th birthday. An excellent game: sunny afternoon, Santana on the mound, a grand slam in the 8th, blown saves, extra innings, a Mets win.
Yet the memory I'm returning to when thinking of that day is the trip home, my Dad asleep in the passenger seat, my sleeping girls slumped on either side of my sleeping wife in the back seat, Petty on the radio, driving across moonlit fields toward home.
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We (us "Men Folk") used to take great pride in killing & grilling mastodons (I'm sure we did) but there isn't a lot of call for that (or mastodons around) these days. And heating up some chicken sausages on the weber grill just can't compare.
But Mmmm, that satisfied ride home.
Charon, Helios, Dad. We all have our appointed rounds.
Sun and siblings sleep
Father, Son and Husband drive
Runnin' Down a Dream
(FYI: Put "Pack up the Plantation: Live!" on while composing this).
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