Tomorrow is Father's Day. I've heard a few rumblings that some crafts may have been made. Actually Ginny told me. Then I said "Shh, don't tell me. Let it be a surprise." So she whispered it to me. I guess if you whisper it then it's a secret.
One of my favourite memories of my Dad growing up was him making waffles. These were no Eggo in the toaster kind of waffles. This was a whole morning experience. Egg whites were mixed separately and folded into batter, this bowl was added to that, oil was brushed onto the waffle iron. He took it very seriously, and the result showed. I think the amount of dishes generated drove Mom nuts, but that's a different story.
The waffle experience actually started long before the first egg was cracked. It started in the living room at the record player. We had one of those big console record players that was an entire piece of furniture unto itself. You could take a whole stack of records and put them all on and they would just fall into place one after another. Kind of the precursor to a CD changer I guess. The record selection never varied that much from time to time - there were some alternates, but there were a few constants as well. Johnny Horton was one. Dad would always sing along, '..and when we touched the powder off the gater lost his mind...' and then he would chuckle. Johnny Cash was also there. And Waylon Jennings, Kenny Rogers, Petula Clark, Jeannie C. Ryley. I'm sure I'm forgetting some, but those were some of the staples. I hope someday my kids remember the music I play.
Then came the actual waffles. We ate them a little differently too. We put ice cream and warm butterscotch pudding on them. They were/are awesome. The entire morning's work was devoured in about 5 minutes, but it was worth it. Looking back, the morning's work was where the memories were made. Happy Father's Day Dad.
Time for bed now, because as much as I'd like to sleep in, it probably won't happen. Later.