On Life and Love

Happy Birthday, Homeboy

Greg the birthday boy being stared at by Greg the cat.
Greg-the-cat was fascinated by the tinsel on the hat.
Greg’s birfday was yesterday, and at this point I think he’s had a solid five days of celebrating.

His parents flew in from Scottsdale, Arizona on Thursday, as his father’s birfday was Saturday. Party time! We ate ridiculous amounts of local food, enjoyed local truffles, and generally had a local-resident-as-tour-guide time, aside from the fact that outdoor activities were off-limits due to the cold. It was an emotionally complicated visit, but I’m glad for it. Greg and I both came away with a tangled mixture of mourning and resolve. Can resolve be tangled?

Anyway, Deana and I decided to keep his birfday on Monday simple, since it’d be in the evening after work. I threw together a little dinner of spaghetti squash and pan-fried chicken tossed with soft goat cheese and olive oil (as much as one can “toss” melting goat cheese). I served up a Spier chenin blanc with it, and I think everything turned out well.

Greg and Deana putt-puttingThen we put Greg in gloves and a coat and hopped on the highway. He didn’t know where we were going, and all his guesses were for naught. We hit up Adventure Landing, which features both an arcade (!) and a putt-putt course (!). I wish I could have taken a picture as we pulled into the parking lot–he was thrilled.

Turns out that I’m less terrible at putt-putt than I thought; I usually managed one over par, with an occasional hole-in-one and a few 5+ shot dances around the hole. Deana and Greg, of course, managed at or one above par on pretty much every hole.

Damn putt-putters.

Deana and Greg at the ArcadeArcading mostly consisted of shooter games. Not sure why shooters and driving games were most of what they had, but it was a blast. I coulda gone for a good game of Tekken 3, myself, though. Maybe no one’s making normal arcade games anymore.

We concluded the evening with a bit more Glee and a good night’s sleep. Not a bad start to Greg’s twenty-eighth year of life.