My husband loves my parents. He loves the home I grew up in (except when he scrapes his knuckles on the abbreviated ceiling upstairs when he's putting on his tee-shirt. But mostly, he loves the Red Rooster.
I take this picture every year and post it on Facebook. And then I lean back and hear all the outliers howl.
For what it's worth, here's how deeply the Red Rooster is woven into our family: we stopped there for shakes on the way from our wedding to our reception. When our first child was born at Danbury Hospital, my folks stopped at the Red Rooster on the way and brought us black-and-white shakes before I even made it out of the labor room.
Every East Coast visit has a Red Rooster jaunt scheduled. And when we're not there, Evan tries to duplicate Red Rooster burgers on our grill.
My folks sent us out on a date. Where else are we going to go but McKinney and Doyle?
After a delicious dinner and a couple of stiff drinks, one of my favorite people showed up (that I'm not married to or didn't give birth too).
My sweet Messy, my oldest friend, and my darling husband. We got good and tipsy.
The bar had taken over part of an iconic Pharmacy counter in town. I was tickled that they acknowledged in the decor.
I already loved McKinney & Doyle because I worked there in college, learned how to make a kickass shortbread there, and learned lots about keeping customers happy. One of the two guys that started the joint had a father-in-law that was an old-school New York Mad Men art director. He designed their iconic logo and kept an eye on their storefront. He was a huge influence on me as a young graphic design student.
Plus, they made our wedding cake. One of the founders used to joke that he'd make me an X-rated wedding cake someday, back in my IN YOUR FACE! card-carrying feminist days. Now that I'm more of a "lead by your actions" kind of feminist, I appreciate that he made us a wedding cake that people STILL remember as the most delicious wedding cake they ever ate.
And now, when I visit my hometown, they provided a good bar for me to drink at.
Me and my Messy. My oldest friend. She is the best. A great friend, a great mom, a great working girl, a great wife. She also introduced me to her husband. who is an awesome human being that I've been lucky to call a friend for over 15 years. She is one of the few human beings that I know that I can not see for months or years on end, and then we immediately take up with each other as if we never left.
The next day we went to the Y (or as they call it these days, Lakeside Park) and my dad took the kids out for some fishing.
Scott took his girls out for a bit of fishing on their mama's homeland.
Scott plucked up a baby snapping turtle. Arlo was entranced with visions of Gamera dancing through his head.
A bit of beach volleyball.
A bit of fishing.
And then to the homestead, where my folks graciously hosted all of the families for dinner.
And then s'mores in the fire pit outside.
Mmmmmmm marshmallows.
We sat there, in the spot where my dad used to have a makeshift greenhouse. and watched the fire burn and told ghost stories. My dad told a couple from his Girl Scout Camp days ("Wrap Wrap" and "The Green Ghoulie") and we did a little around-the-campfire-making-up-the-tales.
I don't think Arlo will be able to convince anyone that he is adopted. Also, as much as my parents were and are the best parents ever -- my dad's habit of cutting my hair in the bathroom with the bowl might not have been the best look for me.
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