Happy Hour Gulag

Usually I can get around just fine. Yesterday was the exception.

Yesterday after work, the plan was to pick up the boy and take him to the Archival Happy Hour. That was Plan B as Plan A of having one of Donny's proxy aunts pick him up did'nt work out. Secretly, I was sort of glad as I do like showing off the baby and a few of the folks who would be there have expressed an interest in either seeing or meeting him.

What I did'nt bank on was a torrential downpour and a fussy baby who only wanted to run around outside in the rain. On that score, I have to admit that he's his mother's son. Nothing I liked better as a kid than running around in a storm. Still, we had places to go and things to do and there we were, stuck at Eastminster.

Pittsburgh has its share of beautiful churches. More than its share, to be honest. Gotta hand it to all those immigrants. Eastminster is a lovely old church and I found out just how lovely yesterday as I walked my kid all over that joint, trying to kill time and keep him happy and quiet. The ratio of stained glass in this building is unbelievably high--big, pictorial stained glass is to be expected in the sanctuary and all but there are little decorative windows everywhere else; hallway landings, meeting rooms, I swear I saw one in a broom closet. Donny has always been entranced with light and I thought he might like to see the glass glowing in the stormlight. Eh. Not so much. Still it made for a nice walk, sneaking around the nooks and crannies of the place.

The rain finally stopped and we got to the happy hour right as it was winding down. Donovan and I split a plate of sweet potato fries (which he ate two-fisted) and he got fussed over by a bunch of nice people. Is it professional to drag your 16 month old to a professional happy hour? Oh well: whatever.