I'm not perfect doing my Insanity workout. But I do it every day, and I enjoy it. I promise I do. And I do pretty well on my diet, except on Sundays or when my mom cooks and makes the most delicious food in the world.
Today I can't blame my mom. It's May 29th, and in Argentina ("and now here in Utah," Chubbers said) we have the tradition of making gnocchi (potato dumplings) and putting a one dollar bill underneath each plate. Every January I resolve to follow this tradition, and each 29th goes by and I forget all about it. It's May, but it's still a month closer to 2011 than to 2012. I'm already doing better than ever.
As soon as my daughters saw me don my apron, they ran to put theirs on.
Making gnocchi is dirty business: floured counter tops el Cagri blew on every time he walked past, sticky hands, dogs underfoot hoping to catch a fallen ball of dough. But the girls' faces as they were helping roll the balls and make the little shells was priceless. I don't have a lot of memories of my grandmother Elena. She wasn't the grandmotherly kind. But I remember going to her house on Sundays, and looking at her hands transform a glob of potato, eggs and flour into a delicacy. I never knew how she could knead so fast. I guess that after seven kids (six of whom were boys), she learned to work fast.
I'm not sure my gnocchi turned out as Abuela Elena's, but they were delicious. I see something of Abuela in Chubbers and Swan. Maybe Perfection skipped a generation.
And last but not least, I can't talk of perfection and not mention Lio Messi's goal yesterday against Manchester United for the Europe Champion League's Final. He's personified perfection, the god of futbol. Maybe in the future, someone will write a biography of the best futbol player that has ever existed--him--and I'll be shocked to find out crazy things about him. Maybe not. For now, he's perfect, the reason futbol even exists. Take a look at his work of art. It makes me cry.