nunu

My dad seemed hopeful that I’d suggest an activity for us to do today—a hike on the mesa? Coffee in town, where we’d make fun of dippy Santa Fe types?— except that I was in the midst of some Michael Jackson-related work today. TV was on, Twitter was open to the LA Times and I periodically checked an AP reporter friend’s Facebook updates from the scene at Forest Lawn. He was skeptical of my interest in the media blitz, but, I argued, this was the first newsworthy event since his death nearly two weeks ago. He eventually chilled out and even turned up the volume when Stevie Wonder started to sing. Then, between Al Sharpton’s impassioned speech and Brooke Shield’s teary one, he made us something to eat. The funeral luncheon: Quesadillas filled with sauteed swiss chard with carmelized shallots; a salad of mixed lettuces, radishes, green beans and lemon vinaigrette and seared wild salmon. We ate in silence.