I just had a weekend with London.
We finally concluded the Hunger Games movies with viewings on Friday night, Saturday morning, and Sunday afternoon. At one point during the viewing London told me, “This is what happens in chapter 25 of the book.” Things like this happen when you hang out with London. You think, that can’t possibly be right, but you double check it later when you’re by yourself or maybe even in the moment and you realize, yes, she is right.
Saturday was big. I took London to Root Down, one of our favorite restaurants in Denver. Once settled into our seats I had to go use the bathroom. When I got back to the table, London was talking to the server and she asked, “Do you have any other entrees besides these four?” I mean, she wasn’t wrong. If there’s something I would change about Root Down, I would like maybe 6 entrees, but I’ve never said that to them. London cut right to the core of the problem in the 90 seconds I was away from the table.
Despite the limited selection, we fared quite well at Root Down, getting their quintessential lamb sliders and sweet potato tots. We also shared the crispy brussel sprouts and devils on horseback before “sharing” the hangar steak. I let London have 8 of the 10 tender slices of steak and in between bites she announced, “I’ve never been exposed to these flavors before.” We then had the banana cream pie and salted chocolate chip cookies to finish off the meal. As we finished up, Governor Polis took his seat in the corner of the restaurant.
The true highlight of the night, and the real reason we were in Denver, was to see Bruce Hornsby perform with the Colorado Symphony at the Boettcher Concert Hall. London has never seen Bruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuce in concert, but Kate and I have been going to Bruce concerts every year of her life. She’s heard a lot of Bruce at home and is more familiar with the songs than even I believed her to be.
Once the show started and we were settled in with our drinks (Shirley Temple for the lady and an Odell IPA for me) London was naming songs after a few keystrokes. Bruce played a long time and London might have fallen asleep—resting her head on my shoulder—during a song or two. At one point, Bruce announced that his next song has a curse word in the title and went on to explain a bit about “Shit’s Crazy Out Here.” Before play resumed, London turned to me and said, “Oh my, I’ve never heard an artist swear before.” She got a laugh from our row in the concert hall.
London rallied for Bruce’s second set, even whispering into my ear the name of an obscure song Bruce was dabbling in, “Hop, Skip & Jump.” For the second time in two days I was later looking it up to see if Bruce had been playing that song. He had been. She was right. I could have never named it.
An hour later we were home and in our beds, so happy that I saw Bruce with my daughter, thankful for a great meal, and treasuring new moments which will always be with us.
Leave a Reply