Twenty-one years ago tomorrow, a certain dear husband and I went out on our very first date. Spoleto restaurant was where Pizzeria Paradiso is now and we sat up in the cozy rafter space that’s now the brick oven. I am so not messing with that as metaphor.
Anyhoo, as I think I’ve written before, my pal Elizabeth’s father posited the perfect hope: that Leonard Baskin’s son would be a charming dinner companion. He was. And is. And remains a fabulous companion through this adventure called life.
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Please feel free to get a little sentimental, yourself this morning; it’s kind of a nice sensation.
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For a good week I’ve wanted to post a link to this guy’s brilliant photography project. When he learned that he and his wife were becoming parents, he told everyone in his life that he was about to become a dad—and took photos of their responses. He said that since he often talks while photographing friends and family no one questioned the camera.
I was charmed (thanks to Joanna Goddard/Cup of Jo). This week, thinking about all those years and all that’s happened in my life, I was remembering how getting married and having that first baby were such monumental and dramatic events. Yeah, the other three kids have been life-changers, too. But the telling part with the marriage and the first baby, well, different indeed from anything or anyone to follow: so new, so novel and so… filled with promise.
