Whenever my father graces the Clog with his magnificent presence it is reminiscent of a Loch Ness Monster sighting. It seems as though the name Tom Calderwood has reached a sort of legendary cult status among friends of The Clog. The mere mention of my old man's name conjures up images of gardening, laughter, and surfing. All of this folklore is well and good, but it never truly compares to spending an afternoon (or life time) in his glowing presence.
Upon returning home from work I found to my surprise that my father had baked a apple plum crisp. While Tom's cooking lives on in infamy, it should also be noted that he is a damn fine baker. Am I at all threatened by this new culinary interest? No... not at the moment.
My fathers line of work is something of a mystery, and watching him conduct it in a lounge chair while simultaneously petting Quynh doesn't exactly shed any light on the matter.
No comments:
Post a Comment