Our House, In the Middle of the Street

Our House. Well, actually Mom's house. That's where I'm blogging from this morning. Now, those readers that have been with me from beginning know this is where Notes was orginally published from and where the rejected title "Notes from my Mom's Couch" also originated.

But that's all in the past. I'm here today because last night Mom was kind enough to take me out to dinner at our favorite Italian restaurant (just like the Billy Joel song) "Rocca" in Glen Rock. Towards the end of dinner we had are semi annual "State of the Brendan address." I did quite well, my plans to teach tennis one more year while applying for MFA programs in both New York and out West pleased Mom immensely. But again, I've gotten off track. See, not only did I have dinner plans in New Jersey last night, but I also had a 7 A.M. service appointment for my beloved blue Toyota Camry. I sometimes call her Cam. So it seemed very wise to stay at Mom's last night rather than make the trek back to New York merely to go wake up in the morning and drive back to Jersey. As an added bonus I got have Passover Dessert at the Siegels and I must confess the Seven Layer Chocolate Matza cake was delicious.

By all this is mere lead up to what I wanted to write about. Which was all the really nice things about Mom's house that you only appreciate now that you live on your own. There are lots of them. Most are obvious: a fully stocked fridge, non stick pans, a full size kitchen, a dishwasher, washer and drier. But perhaps the most overlooked is the state of the TP. Honestly friends, this morning I felt like I was treating my **** crack to a Thermal Spa in Hungary. So soft, so full, so tender. I don't where Mom gets this TP, but it sure beats the hell out of my 99 cent rolls.