While THE Fall Classic didn’t quite turn out as I’d hoped, our October still ended on quite a lovely note.
We wrapped our two-week house vacation by going to San Diego this past weekend, to visit John and Ashley.
Wait a minute — you don’t know who John and Ashley are? Then read my greatest blog post ever.
Anyway, despite having to watch Michigan AND the Tigers lose, we still had an epically good time. Which tends to happen with these two, and especially when you’re someplace like San Diego. And it’s perfectly sunny. And 90 degrees.
There was a little of this:
And a little of this:
And HOLY SHIT! There was THIS!!!
And a WHOLE lotta this:
Yes — was there a game on again or something?
And then unfortunately we had to stumble onto our plane and come home, but when we got here, someone was waiting for us:
That’s an ancient and awesomely rudimentary portrait of my great-grandfather, Andrea Spada (Grandpa Sam’s father). I asked Munga if I could have it, since I remember it vividly from my childhood but it hasn’t been on the wall in my mom’s house for a while now. She and my grandparents sent it on to us instantly, to fill the prime real estate over our fireplace.
I’m toying with the idea of dressing it up in a proper antique frame, but haven’t decided yet — Trent and I are both kinda fond of the simple wooden frame, too.
More than anything, though, I’m fond of the idea of being watched over in our new house by Grandpa Andrew. He was the best bootlegger Prohibition-era Detroit ever saw.
So much so, actually, that he died a mysteriously premature death at age 29, when my grandfather was just a wee tot. The official cause was listed as “spinal meningitis,” but our family has always whispered that he was “frightened to death” by the Mafia (if you, um, catch my drift). Hungry for a piece of his business, the local enforcers had followed him home frequently in the weeks that preceded his untimely undoing.
He left behind a teenage bride and two tiny sons who would somehow survive in a harsh world, even though they never saw a penny of the fortune their father was building for them.
I’d like to think us Spadas need not ever worry about the obstacles facing us (like clover in our mulch beds! or dry rot!), because we have one supremely cool (and, let’s be honest: slightly spooky) pater familia watching out for us from the other side.
And I might be a Temple now, but I’m still a Spada. And even though Trent made ME change MY name (*cough*), he’s a Spada now, too. So G-Gramps has got us covered. From above the fireplace.
Also, it’ll be Halloween soon, making it the perfect time for our own friendly family ghost to show up and frighten every f#@%ing ant off our property. I would trade a victory in the World Series of Baseball for a victory in the World Series of Temples vs. Ants ANY DAY.
Come on, G-Gramps…