A Melancholy Final Two Days

Our last two days at home were sort of melancholy.

With the holidays over, our time at home was winding down—and we were not eager to leave.

The dog could sense our melancholy, because he was slightly unsettled on Saturday and Sunday. Andrew’s mother said that the dog understood that we would be departing soon, leaving him without his best pals—and she insisted that he was as sad to see us depart as everyone else because she could hear it in his “voice” (by which she meant the noises the dog makes).

The dog was particularly keen for affection from Andrew on Saturday and Sunday. He did not want to leave Andrew’s side.

We took him to the park early Saturday morning. We made the gesture for him, not for us, because it was frightfully cold. We did not remain at the park for long.

On Saturday morning, we had a major breakfast. We ate grapefruit, hot oatmeal, scrambled eggs, bacon, fried potatoes, toast, orange juice, cranberry juice and apple-cinnamon muffins warm from the oven.

After breakfast, Andrew and I went out to do some serious food shopping for Andrew’s mother. Alex accompanied us, because he needed to restock his own kitchen after spending ten days at his parents’ house. We took the dog with us, and he enjoyed his morning outing.

We visited two food stores. On our way home, we stopped at Alex’s apartment and deposited his purchases.

Once we returned home, we had a quick lunch—vegetable lasagna—and afterward all of us (except the dog) headed to Southdale to catch the first showing of the afternoon of “Nine”.

Everyone but me was already familiar with the source material: the Fellini film, “8 ½”, and Maury Yeston’s Broadway score.

“Nine” was not boring, but it was not good.

The project obviously had the wrong director. A French or an Italian director should have been assigned the project, and a different cast engaged (except for the actress portraying Mrs. Contini, who was convincing—and marvelous).

The film had the wrong “look”, the wrong “tone”, and the wrong tinctura.

Much of the film was laughable, largely because of fatal miscasting. Most gruesome was Judi Dench, a fat old cow, who was assigned a Folies Bergere number that, in the right hands, would have been a surefire success.

After the movie, we went straight home, because Alec and Lizbeth and the kids were to join us for our last night home.

We had Swiss steak for dinner, accompanied by mashed potatoes, white corn, lima beans, butternut squash and a pear-strawberry-nut salad. We had angel food cake for dessert, which Helena loves.

We spent the evening playing with the kids.

Early yesterday morning, Andrew and I took the dog to the park again, even though it was colder than ever. It was the dog’s last early-morning romp in the park for a while—he will now have to make do with an early-morning romp by himself in the backyard.

We had buttermilk pancakes and sausage for breakfast.

After church, we all returned home for a lunch of Quiche Lorraine.

Andrew and I spent a melancholy afternoon getting our things together.

In the middle of the afternoon, Andrew’s parents took us to the airport. It was painful to have to say “Goodbye” to everyone.

Andrew and I will see next Alex over the first weekend in February, because Alex will join us in Boston for a weekend of college basketball games: three games in two days.

Andrew and I will next see his parents early on the morning of Saturday, March 13, when we will meet up with them (and Alex) at Athens airport.

I do not know when we will next see Alec and Lizbeth and the kids.

It is possible we will not see them again until summer.