Sunday, August 22. Jazz Brunch At ML's Place. A New Book, Page One. Zea's Ribeye. We went back across the lake on this Sunday morning because a) Mary Leigh forgot a few things for her new dorm room at Tulane; 2) we needed to bring her new bicycle over (there had been no room for it in yesterday's haul), and iii) a jazz brunch was being served in the residents' dining hall for new students and their parents.
After we registered the bike and locked it up on the rack outside, we made our way to Bruff Commons for the brunch. It was a buffet, managed by Bruff's food service contractor Sodexo. That's a French company that bought into the American market by merging with Marriott's food service arm, Dobbs House. Dobbs House was one of the early providers of food on airliners. What does that tell you?
Nevertheless, the brunch was reasonably decent. They had grillades and grits, for one thing. And some spicy meat pies so good that Mary Ann's mind began working on a plan by which Mary Leigh could smuggle a meat pie or two to her room every day, and MA would pick them up once a week for her own eating pleasure. (ML would have no part of that scheme.) The eggs and bacon and waffles and such were hotel-quality.
They really did have a jazz trio. On a trip for more mediocre coffee, I spoke with the musicians, who were on a break. They all knew who I was, and we had enough of a conversation that I asked them to let me sing "Sweet Lorraine" with them. I acquitted myself reasonably well, but that was still too much for Mary Leigh, who left the dining hall in mid-song. Parents are so embarrassing. But I doubt any of the students knew I was her dad. And what's one more old guy giving forth ancient jazz anyway?
We reconvened in the dorm room. The girls have made it up nicely. ML was having trouble connecting her printer to her computer. That's something I could have helped if I had any idea how Mac computers work. But I'm just a fossil.
The college girls were clearly itching for us to leave. So we did. En route home, the emotions that I knew would be triggered by this major milepost in our family's history finally emerged. It felt a lot like the way I feel while driving home from my retreats at Manresa. That's such a joyous place that, even though I leave it full of inspirations for my life, a feeling of freefall fills my chest. It also felt like coming to the end of an exceptionally enjoyable book, and know that you must now pick up a different book.
Our final child has relinquished her integral connection with our lives. And she has not done so gingerly, but flown away gloriously and fearlessly. I am so happy for her. Mary Ann and I can rightly take pride (and thank our good luck) in having raised such children. But now what will we do? What's our goal? Other than raising the annual fortune these tuitions amount to, I mean?
At home, I got back to work for a few hours, then we went to dinner at Zea. Mary Ann wasn't really hungry, but I was able to tempt her with half of an entree that would be too much for me after the tuna sashimi stack. (That's what I really came here for.) Zea has a rotisserie ribeye that I don't remember seeing on its menu before. (It probably has been there all along.) It sounded good, and Mary Ann is a buff for roast prime rib of beef. As I expected, it had the soft, juicy interior of that cut. But they finish it on the grill, so the exterior was like that of a ribeye steak. Sides of roasted potatoes (those have changed, and not for the better) and red beans completed a very ample meal.
Near the end of it, Dr. Doug Swift happened by. He and his wife Karen are good friends, their son having been at Jesuit the same time as Jude was. He's attending a meeting on the North Shore. We tried to arrange dinner with the Swifts tomorrow, but the logistics wouldn't work out. Another time.
The two of us returned to our quiet house. That's it, all right. Just the two of us, from now on.
Zea. Covington: 110 Lake Dr . 985-327-0520. Eclectic.
