I came in from walking the dog. Paco’s red coat was dotted with snowflakes. Every inch of my skin was covered; just my eyes peered through my full-body suit of Gore-Tex.
Nora stood in the middle of the kitchen.
“Hey, Dad!” she shouted.
“Mmmfphh,” I replied.
“Is it cold outside?”
“Yes, hon, it is very very cold outside.”
“Huh. You know what?” she smirked, eyebrows raised high.
“It isn’t very cold in Floor-i-daaaahhhhh!” and she raced up to her room, giggling to herself.
I began my winter-walking-the-dog-unwrapping-procedure and smiled to myself. Nora was invited a few months ago to accompany our very close friends on a special trip to visit the Mouse in Disney World.
Since Nora is the kind of girl who needs to mull, we weren’t surprised when her immediate response to the idea was, “No. Uh-uh.” Many people were involved in a carefully coordinated campaign to warm her up to the idea. Disney World brochures were left in strategic places around the house, every Disney flick since 1979 made it to the top of our Netflix queue and we scheduled a weekend away with our friends as a trial run sans the rest of the Kinney Collective.
Slowly, but surely, she began to turn a corner. And since she has fully embraced the idea, she’s moved from scowling with her arms crossed to cheerily rubbing it in at every chance that she is going to Florida and WE are not.
Just this week, I found a Georga O’Keefe calendar posted to the fridge, the dates in January being meticulously crossed out one by one.
And then, a list appeared, Nora is keeping a tally of items to bring on her quest to visit the Mouse. My personal favorite, “camra.”