|By day, he pulls the Wells Fargo stagecoach. By night, he's Crispín, Mexican wrestler|
This morning, we're sitting watching the Rose Parade.
My parents never took me to the Rose Parade, in spite of living close enough to the parade route to, if I ran outside really quickly, see the planes flying in formation over the crowds. Not that I was ever in the crowd.
|"What? It helps keep my weight down..."|
|A horseback-riding birthday party for a dozen nine-year-olds? ¡Olé!|
So no. No camping out at the Rose Parade. No joining the crowds lining Sunset Boulevard for the Hollywood Christmas Parade. And you know what? Now that I'm a grown-up and think about the crowds and the parking and the money and the frayed nerves, I don't blame her (shhh, don't tell her!).
But this morning, as we were watching the parade, Adrián said "this is something we'll have to do with the kids." "What, sit and watch on TV?" I asked with apprehension. "No," he said. "I mean, go watch in person."
We'll close with a thematic video courtesy of Mark at Our Simple Lives (I left out the part about being put out to roast in the sun... but my mom never shared her cocktails, damnit):