One year ago today was a Wednesday. I remember because it was a confirmation night and we were painting the to-be youth room lime green. A couple youth and parents stuck around after class to help paint. It’s then my iphone dinged with a new email.
Wouldn’t I consider auditioning for the reality show Master Chef? They’d seen my cooking videos [check out the youtube link in the right hand column if you must] and were recruiting people to come to Minneapolis to try out. And so began my crazy October of cakepops from scratch, VIP auditions, and everything Master Chef. I look back fondly; as I think of turning 30 in just a few short months, auditioning for a reality television show goes in that look-at-the-fun-things-I’ve-done-in-these-first-30-years column. It was crazy in a really fun way. [Until I quit the process, of course.]
One year ago today also marked the eight year anniversary of my dad’s death. Which makes today year nine. The tradition is to watch Back to the Future [a mutual love for Marty McFly and the space/time continuum was one of the strong bonds my dad and I held] and drink a coke; today the plan might have to be falling asleep on the couch to Back to the Future as Paige and I have theater tickets to see The Rocky Horror Picture Show in Austin at the community college tonight. I may not be able to stay awake to see Marty return from November 1955 but I’ll at least watch him go there at 88 mph to end up in Old Man Peabody’s barn after being chased by Libyan nationalists who shoot Doc for giving them a shotty bomb made of used pinball machine parts while stealing their plutonium. And hopefully long enough to watch his own mother call him Calvin because it’s written all over his purple underwear when she puts his pants on her hope chest.
*clears throat* So let us raise our cokes. To John. To Spanky. To the best dad who would help us make the most elaborate snow forts, chase bats from my bedroom in the middle of the night using a broom, and help me decorate sugar cookies for all my friends with their names on them in his perfect printing.