How do you spell egg-zasp-per-AYE-Shun? Argh!

Tuesdays I spend time with my dad. I usually get there and he's got some small task to charge me with (read some of his mail, make a phone call, etc.), then he has his "running" list -- we're running to the library, the bank, to lunch. Usually there's a small list of things to buy at Cub. And, oftentimes, we have to drive past the houses of people he knows are not at home.

During the trip I always hear about the great places he went to eat with Carolyn or Jackie or Connie. And yet he always just wants to eat at Perkins with me.

So this week, on Monday, I got a call saying someone wanted to donate some trophies to my saddle club, Trail Dusters. He said I could pick them up in Monticello so I decided I would collect Dad, swing through Monticello (he SO loves his car rides), then head to Big Lake and take him to Russells on the Lake. Russells is a "dignified" restaurant (so you can already see the flaw in my plan) but I thought he would like going somewhere new, I knew they had great walleye, and, best of all, it wasn't PERKINS.

I got to his apartment relatively early Tuesday morning (9:30ish) and he immediately set me to task to write out the envelopes for his estimated quarterly taxes. I had printed all the forms online for him, highlighted the payment amounts and dates, and had everything but the envelopes ready. Well -- so I wrote out the eight envelopes, I put the dates on the calendar on the wall, then had to sit and count the envelopes back to him three times before he believed they were all there.

I told him we were going to go some place fun for lunch and he dropped his bookbag in my lap...also on the itinerary for the day was 1) cookies 2) 3-way light bulb and 3) cough drops. In my mind I kept thinking "Ok, I'll take him to the Mounds View branch of the library. We'll be going right past it."

As I'm signing him out, he says (in his best library voice) "That guy's wife just died" as he is jerking his thumb over his shoulder, presumably at the old guy in the chair in the lobby. Now every guy over there wears either the blue or tan pants, the plaid shirt, and 1 out of 2 of them have a walker. I can't tell any of them apart -- they all have the same haircut, the same glasses, and the same hearing impairment. So I walk over to the guy and kneel down and say "I'm so sorry. I heard about your wife. I really am sorry. When's the funeral?" and the guy just stares blankly at me. (Again, a common facial expression for the men there.)

We walk outside and Dad says "What were you talkin to that feller about?" and I said "well I told him I was sorry about his wife." And then Dad says to me "No, it was that teacher of yours Christofferson who's wife died..."

Great.

After a few wrong turns and a potty stop in Monticello, I had a Suburban full of wonderful used trophies and we were on our way cross-country to Big Lake. We got into Big Lake about 11:15. I pulled into the parking lot at Russells and was going to just dash over and see what time they opened when he jumps out of the truck, races around and shuts my door (thankfully I HAD grabbed my keys) and heads for the restaurant. I tried to gesticulate a conveyance of the fact: we have to wait 15 minutes. I dragged him back to the truck and scribbled him a note on the ever-present yellow legal pad.

"They open in 15 minutes! We can just sit here and wait or I can drive you around Big Lake for a little while longer," I scrawled.

"Oh let's just go home then. Just go home and we'll stop at Perkins," he stated adamantly.

I gathered my moxy and wrote "We just drove over an hour to get here -- we can wait another few minutes."

He started to protest and I scratched "BE PATIENT!" in large blue letters across the pad.

Russells is a little upscale -- everything is decorated in antiques, the servers know exactly when to bring you the next course, and people actually talk in hushed tones. Well, everyone but my Dad. "Where's the bathroom???" he hollered at the maitre d'

The nice, quiet man showed Dad where the restroom was and then he and I stood and waited outside the bathroom for Dad to come out so we could be seated. Hey, how about some uncomfortable small talk...

So we got seated and then he really pitched a fit "Don't they have BREAKFAST? I want BREAKFAST!!!"

I told him that their walleye is always really good, and that they have some great soups (today was creamy chicken cordon bleu or chicken chili barley). And that they have a great salad bar with warm fresh rolls, etc.

"I want BREAKFAST!"

So I signaled the waitress and told her he would have coffee and I would have the largest glass of Riesling they had. Maybe just bring the bottle. She smiled uncomfortably and you could tell she wished it were her day off.

I ordered the walleye for him and he proceeded to douse it with tartar and ketchup. Super. Don't bother tasting it before you slather it with additives.

Finally lunch was over. I fought him for the check (and won!) and we left. Now he starts thanking me profusely. And we head south and east down Highway 10. He pointed at one place outside of Big Lake and said "That must be a good place to eat, they've got a HUGE crowd." (I just nodded -- its too hard to write "Dad, that's a car dealer" while driving 72 in a 55.)

We were nearly to the 10/610 split before he starts waving his hand in my face. I started scanning frantically for a pit stop location but he said "FOUR! I counted at LEAST four of them camper places along here."

I suggest the Mounds View branch of the library but that gets quickly shot down. "Roseville!"

A quick stop at Cub, a quick stop at the library. Back at the apartment there were the usual 9 cars in the 8 parking spots, a moving van, the mail truck, and the transport bus. He wouldn't take his books up so I had to beach the Suburban up on the grass and go in with him.

His parting words to me? "You never noticed! I washed my sweater and my coat like you told me to."